


Come Change Your Ring With Me

by j_quadrifrons



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Bad dates, Canon Asexual Character, CoWorkers to Friends to Lovers, Exes to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Gestures, Second-Hand Embarrassment, canon divergent from episode 94, canon oblivious dumbass character, enemies to fiances to enemies, minor non-consensual kissing, romcom tropes, the soap opera you call an archive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-08-13 17:22:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_quadrifrons/pseuds/j_quadrifrons
Summary: The Lukases demand the Archivist marry into the family, and the Institute relies on them too much to say no. Peter is smug. Elias is fuming. Martin is suffering. Jon thinks this might be tolerable if only Peter would hurry up and leave him alone already.OR, the soap opera we call an Archives revolves around Peter Lukas this time.Written for the Rusty Quill Big Bang 2019!





	1. That Tired of Living Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Acknowledgements:  
fedora_hat, who came up with half this idea and helped me work out details whenever I got stuck;  
Mad_Maudlin, whose suggestions made this much closer to a coherent story instead of a series of vaguely connected scenes;  
cruelest_month for relentless and enthusiastic cheerleading
> 
> [With stunning cover art by tk!](https://twitter.com/charmophron/status/1159976378583773184?s=20)

Jon is sat in his office, staring mindlessly at a stack of research files following up on statements he'd assigned to his staff months ago, trying to decide if he's more likely to get any work done if he stays here or sleep if he goes home - both seem unlikely - when Elias knocks on the door with a suit and an instruction that Jon will be accompanying him to a Lukas family event. It's just the sort of thing he ought to expect, he thinks tiredly. In the past ten days he's taken statements from two avatars, three if you counted Elias's confession to the murders of Gertrude Robinson and Jurgen Leitner, and from Georgie of all people. He's moved out of Georgie's flat over her objections. His right hand is still bandaged and he hasn't slept properly in weeks. He says as much, and Elias is launching into his usual lecture about keeping Institute donors happy when Jon takes the suit from him and slams the door in his face. It's a petty, temporary victory, but he'll take what he can get at this point.

The party is taking place in a club not far from the Institute, likely a gathering spot for the more upscale sort of monsters since Jonah Magnus's time. Jon's never been to a cocktail party before, but he's fairly certain this one is even more horrible than most, given that it's populated almost entirely by Lukases. It makes his skin crawl. There's nothing _there_, despite the crowd of appallingly well-dressed people gossiping quietly amongst themselves. The conversation doesn't cease, exactly, when they enter the room, but there is a notable dip in volume, followed by an almost imperceptible turning away. It feels like nothing so much as being snubbed by the entire universe.

"Friendly lot," Jon mutters, and Elias does not quite smile.

Even if they were not being ignored, it's very obvious that the two of them don't belong there. The Lukases have a peculiarly uniform look, tall and pale, although surely some of them must be Lukases only by marriage. Elias's warning about the Lukases and their patron were not enough to prepare Jon for the feeling of loss that washes through him, sharp and aching. Then Elias _looks_ at him and the feeling recedes. It ought to be terrible, this reminder that they too serve something horrible, but instead it's a reassurance. Elias hands him a glass of champagne and Jon swallows half of it, far too quickly. He feels he deserves it.

Elias does not quite jump when someone calls his name from across the room, but his shoulders tense in a way that draws Jon's attention. He's watching Elias, then, when one of the tall, pale men approaches them with a geniality that's frankly unsettling in the chill of the party.

"Peter," Elias says evenly. Peter Lukas, then - and he's nothing like what Jon might have expected based on Carlita Sloane's statement. Tall and pale, certainly, but rather than the distant expression carried by the rest of the family he wears a genial smile and a glint in his eye. And he's far from taciturn.

Carlita Sloane was not, in the end, prey for the Lonely. Jon does not like to think about what the difference in Peter Lukas's demeanor might mean for him.

"Decided to show your face at last? How long has it been?" Peter claps Elias on the shoulder with a friendly grin.

Elias bears up under it without a reaction and declines to answer his question. "I thought perhaps I'd see Nathaniel before -"

"No need," Peter cuts him off airily. "After all," he says, letting his eyes slide right past Elias with practiced ease, "I see you've done your part. Jonathan, yes?" He takes Jon's hand and bends as if to kiss it.

Jon wrenches it back, eyes wide with shock, and snaps, "What the hell are you playing at?" He doesn't even think about the compulsion until it's out of his mouth, but Peter only laughs in delight.

"Really, Elias? All your grand talk about knowing, but you haven't bothered to let your Archivist in on the game?"

Jon bristles at being referred to as Elias's anything, but Elias continues as though he isn't there. "It's very important for the Archivist to learn things on his own, as I've told you, Peter," Elias murmurs, hiding a little behind his glass.

But Peter isn't the only one here; Elias is looking at Jon expectantly and Jon feels another flash of the day's earlier anger at his blatantly calculating expression. "What are we here for?" he asks with the full force of the compulsion in his voice.

The flutter of Elias's eyelashes is frankly indecent, and Jon can feel a blush starting to rise that he can only hope will be misattributed to anger when any response Elias might have given (not that he truly expects honesty from Elias Bouchard at this point) is cut off by Peter's cheery, "For my engagement party, of course."

"Engagement party?" Jon says, and the question holds more horror than compulsion. Who on earth would be marrying Peter Lukas? But any further questions are cut off by the appearance of another Lukas.

"Peter," the man says calmly. His eyes slide over the group without meeting anyone else's, giving the impression of having dismissed every one of them as unimportant even while Jon is growing increasingly convinced that his presence at this particular gathering is far from incidental. "I hope you won't find it necessary to make a speech."

"Oh, I don't know," Peter says cheerfully, "we do want to do the thing properly, don't we, Nathaniel?" He slips a hand in his pocket as he sips from his glass - whiskey, it looks like, and where he came by that Jon would dearly like to know - the very picture of conviviality. He winks at Jon flirtatiously. And if he's engaged, then why - _Oh god. He can't mean --_

Elias is mirroring Peter's posture, although he looks decidedly less at ease. The Lukases are, Jon remembers with a jolt, the primary funding source for the Institute, which means that for Elias this must be a little like being called to account by his boss. The thought ought to be satisfying, but Jon feels an involuntary flash of sympathy.

But more importantly, he's getting a sinking feeling in his stomach, chilled with the certainty that there's only one reason Elias would have dragged him along to this, why Elias is standing next to him so tense and strained, why Peter is slowly making his way into Jon's personal space. Jon glares at him, but is entirely ignored, so he turns it on Peter instead, who simply smiles back at him, all hollow charm.

"And are we going to meet the other party in this engagement?" Jon asks, as dry as he can. There's still a chance, after all, that he's wrong, that he's catastrophizing again, and this is merely Institute politics at work.

Peter makes a shocked face at Elias, transparently false. "You mean you haven't told him? Really, Elias, I know you like to play it close to the chest, but it's only polite to tell a man when you're marrying him off."

"You can't be serious," Jon says flatly. Elias says his name, but he ignores it. "This is - ridiculous, you can't just - this is not the nineteenth century and there are better ways to negotiate than to _arrange marriages_ \- " He's nearly shouting, although it doesn't draw the attention of the rest of the party, of course. Even a hysterical outburst isn't enough to break the solitude of the Lukas family isolation, apparently.

"You'd be surprised," Peter says cheerfully. "The oldest rituals are the best ones, sometimes, especially when the circumstances don't allow for experimentation." He toasts Jon with his glass.

Jon grits his teeth and tries to remain calm. It's not working well. "And what if I refuse?"

"Will you?" Peter sounds genuinely curious.

"He will not," Elias cuts in smoothly. "Jon understands what the stakes are, don't you, Jon?" He's still looking at Peter, though, as he says it.

Anger is struggling with exhaustion and alcohol, and Jon feels entirely out of his depth. Which should be a familiar feeling by now, really, but it's no less upsetting for it. "I am not a - a bargaining chip," he says. Nathaniel Lukas makes a noncommittal noise. "What," Jon snaps, and though there's no tape recorder running he'd almost swear he can feel the static in his teeth.

Nathaniel meets his eyes and Jon feels his blood go cold. It isn't the terror of Mr Spider, or even Jude Perry, but an icy sense of abandonment, the growing feeling not only that he is stood alone with an utterly inhuman monster, the fear that soon the monster too will disappear and leave him to whatever fate befalls the only person, human or otherwise, left alive. He can't be sure, suddenly, if Elias is still there next to him, if the rest of the party is still going on around them, and yet he can't tear his gaze away from Nathaniel Lukas to see.

A tug on his arm brings him back to himself and Jon tears his eyes away from Nathaniel Lukas's to land on Elias's hand wrapped firmly around his wrist, manicured nails digging slightly into his skin with a grounding pain. After that glimpse of isolation, even the chill of a Lukas family gathering seems warm and almost welcoming.

Peter is rambling on, Jon realizes, although Nathaniel has already turned away. "--and really, for all that we do, the very least the Beholding can offer in return is the loan of one of its own."

"I will not be leaving the Archives," Jon says, and Elias's grip tightens for a moment before he releases Jon's wrist. Jon wonders immediately if that was the right thing to say - this may be the only chance he has to get out of whatever Elias has obligated him to - but he hadn't been able to run when the field had been left wide open and besides, it feels true. He very much suspects that the Archives are a part of him now, for better or for worse. Probably worse.

"Of course not," Peter says. "And you'll still serve the Beholding alone, of course. Wouldn't dream of interfering in that. But to have the Archivist marry into the family will smooth a great many troubled passages for the both of us." He raises his glass in a cheerful toast in Jon and Elias's direction.

Jon is beginning to wonder if that supernatural chill has really left him after all. "Wonderful," he mutters.

"So glad you agree," Peter says cheerfully. Jon sneaks another glance at Elias, who is maintaining both a couple of feet of distance and a carefully neutral expression, the arsehole.

This would all be more tolerable, Jon thinks, if Peter didn't sound so damned pleased about the situation. He feels a familiar chill in his stomach, one he'd thought he'd done away with when he'd given up on dating.

"And what do you get out of this?" Jon snarls. "I'm certainly not going to help you carry on the family line."

"That's not really my department," Peter says blandly, and Jon almost asks if there's some kind of assigned division of labor or if he just means he's gay before he remembers that he really does not want to know. "It gets Nathaniel off my back, if you must know," he adds with a conspiratorial frown. "Very big on tradition, is Nathaniel, and well, an arranged and loveless marriage is very isolating, we so often find."

Jon thinks of Naomi Hearne and Evan Lukas's congenital heart condition. "Quite," he murmurs. Elias makes a noise that might almost be the beginning of a laugh.

More drinks arrive at last, and Jon chokes down a toast that at least no one else acknowledges. "What - I'd like to know how much of this was your idea," he says to Elias when he gets a chance.

"None," Elias answers, and his jaw is tight enough that he might just be telling the truth. "But I hope you can understand that we're in a delicate position just now, with - everything that's going on, and we cannot afford to lose any amount of support, financial or otherwise. Have another drink," he suggests.

Peter does insist on making a speech, in the end. It isn't long but it is dreadfully uncomfortable, full of romantic clichés that seem very out of place under the circumstances. None of the other Lukases pay him any attention, but after the fact a great many of them pass by Jon to welcome him to the family. His stomach churns with every handshake but it would be more horrible, he thinks, if any of them sounded sincere. There are too many names to remember but they all seem the same anyway, pale and remote and disinterested.

By the time they leave - before midnight, astonishingly, though it feels as though they've been here for hours - Jon is beginning to feel that this might not be as terrible as he'd first feared. An arranged and loveless marriage, Peter had said. At least that means Jon might be left well enough alone.

* * *

Jon's wearing a ring. Martin noticed it - well, honestly Martin noticed it first thing this morning, it's huge, a heavy gold thing with a polished sapphire stone. It glints in the light whenever Jon runs a hand through his hair, which is. A lot more often than Martin had been prepared for, actually. Not that he thinks about what Jon does with his hands more than, oh, about fifteen times a day. It's distracting, is what it is, the way the light catches on the stone. He keeps seeing it out of the corner of his eye. He can't be blamed for that.

Martin also can't help but notice that Jon is wearing it on the ring finger of his left hand. Which might mean nothing at all, of course. Jon is a little weird about social cues at the best of times, it's entirely possible it just didn't occur to him what that would look like. If, of course, Jon were inclined to wear jewelry at all, never mind something quite so...ostentatious.

(If he'd thought of what kind of a ring Jon would wear he would have expected something simple and understated, probably not even gold or silver, maybe one of those fidget rings in stainless steel and nope, Martin is not picking out jewelry for Jonathan Sims in his head.)

And of course Tim's picked today to actually come into the office for once. Not that he's doing any work, or even paying any attention to anyone else, but he's still _there_, his simmering anger a palpable presence in the assistants' office. Melanie is off following something up in Artifact Storage, and if Tim wasn't here Martin thinks he might actually go talk to Jon, who's wholly oblivious to anyone else as he sorts through shelves of file boxes, but he can't bear the thought of Tim's mockery right now. Or even worse, the thought that Tim might just continue to ignore him as though they'd never been friends at all.

So Martin fidgets and tries to work, and Tim scrolls through Facebook, and Jon fidgets and every time Jon fidgets the light catches on his sapphire ring that is definitely not an engagement ring and Martin's train of thought is completely derailed. _It's a good thing the world isn't ending_, he thinks to himself, _or we'd all be in real trouble. Oh wait._

By the time Melanie comes back after lunch, Jon has retreated to his office and closed the door, which at least spares Martin that much distraction. She drops a notebook bulging with sticky notes and pen scribbles onto her desk - the one Martin still thinks of as Sasha's desk, and he tries not to resent her for it, tries not to think about what Elias said about him not being able to recognize the real Sasha even if he could see her - and sighs in a way that means she wants to be noticed. "Find anything good?" he asks politely.

She drums her fingers on the notebook. "I don't know that there's anything good in there," she says. "But I did find a few things Jon was looking for. I think." She fans the pages and catches a sheaf of loose papers. "Some of it seems to have disappeared? Which cannot be good, I don't want to know how things disappear from there and I don't want to think about it."

"Yeah, it's. Not great." Martin eyes the papers she's gesturing with. "Did you want me to bring those in to Jon, I've got some stuff for him anyway..."

Melanie gives him a knowing look and Martin can feel the blush rising up his neck but she just says, "Sure, go for it," and hands him her notes.

He waits outside the door long enough to be sure Jon isn't recording a statement before he knocks and heads right in. They'd all learned some time ago that waiting for Jon to both notice and acknowledge a knock was an exercise in frustration. Jon looks up from what looks like the contents of an entire archival storage box strewn across his desk. He looks mildly annoyed, which isn't all that unusual, but Martin brandishes the papers in defense anyway. "Melanie came back with this lot from Artifact Storage, and she thinks some stuff is missing? Which isn't good, obviously, but at least the records are still there. And I found Mr. Mori's grandmother, she's in, um, Devon..." And of course he doesn't have his own notes and can't remember exactly what it was he was writing down not twenty minutes ago, of course.

At least Jon seems more interested in Melanie's research than in Martin's own just now, which in any other circumstances would be deeply annoying. He reaches for the pages with a muttered thanks, but as he does his hand knocks sharply against the tape recorder sat on the edge of his desk with a sound much louder than knuckles on plastic. Martin has to stop his reflexive move forward to help somehow as Jon shakes out his hand with a bitten-off noise. "This damned thing," Jon mutters, twisting the ring around on his finger to inspect the stone.

"Heavy rings throw off your whole balance," Martin says sympathetically, and Jon gives him an odd look. Martin can feel a betraying blush creeping up the back of his neck and suddenly he has to defend his possession of this particular knowledge. "I, er, my cousin was a goth, when I was about twelve? He used to let me try on his stuff sometimes. I thought he looked very cool, but I don't know how he managed it all day every day."

Jon almost smiles at that. "Quite."

"Although that looks more like an antique than my cousin's costume jewelry," Martin continues, and oh god now he's talking and he can't seem to shut up. Why is he like this? He can hear himself say, with a small laugh, "If I didn't know better I'd say it looked like an engagement ring."

Jon's face does something complicated and he sits down very slowly. "Ah," he says, then sighs. "Well." Martin stops breathing.

A flash of irritation crosses Jon's face as he settles on a response. "Apparently Elias and the - the Institute have no respect for personal privacy. The Lukas family have requested - well, demanded, really," he stops, swallows, starts again. "The Lukases serve something called the Lonely, which is a more powerful, or at least more influential, ally of the Beholding, and since they're also funding the Institute..." his hands are twisting together, which just draws Martin's attention back to the star sapphire glinting on his finger.

"So what, they want you to marry one of their daughters?" Martin blurts out. His voice comes out much too high, but given that his boss, who he has a crush on, seems to be living out the plot of a cheap romance novel, that doesn't seem too unreasonable.

Jon makes a face. "Peter Lukas, actually." He sounds almost apologetic, which is deeply wrong, because while someone should definitely be apologizing for this situation that person is absolutely not Jon.

The name's familiar, though. "The terrifying sea captain?" Martin is starting to feel like he's having a stroke. He sits down heavily in the chair in front of Jon's desk. He can't stop looking at his ring. Now that he thinks about it, it looks like a family heirloom from a terrifying multigenerational cult that worships a god of loneliness and has enough money to force innocent unqualified archivists to do absurd things like marry a man at least twice his age for the sake of -- what, his job? The Institute? The end of the world?

"How long do we have?" Martin asks. He's still a little numb, but anger is beginning to seep in around the edges.

Jon blinks at him. "I'm sorry?"

"How long do we have to get you out of this?" The panic is subsiding, replaced with indignation on Jon's behalf and a kind of transcendent calmness that offers the possibility of planning. Sure, none of them can actually quit working at the Magnus Institute - Tim has been testing that very thoroughly - but this is a step beyond. He meets Jon's eyes, and Jon looks surprised, and sorry.

"Martin," he says gently, "I really don't think that's a good idea. The Lukases --"

"Bullshit," Martin says emphatically. He can feel the color rising in his cheeks, as much anger as it is embarrassment. "This is - Jon, _marriage_, really? It's absurd."

Jon grimaces and rubs his temples. "I'm well aware," he says dryly. "But Elias made it very clear that the consequences for defying the Lukases now, when we're faced with the threat of the Unknowing, would be --" He pauses, glances back up at Martin's face, and apparently doesn't like what he sees. "Very bad," he finishes lamely.

Martin is aware he has his arms folded across his chest and is glaring at Jon like a teacher with a recalcitrant schoolchild, but he can't seem to make himself stop. Jon is willing to just go along with this, after the threat of a murder investigation, his increasingly supernatural abilities, that creepy cop apparently kidnapping him, whatever it was that happened to his hand, and Martin is not prepared to just sit back and let him. They have no right to ask this of him.

Then Jon glances up at the closed door to his office and sighs. He raises his voice and calls out, "You might as well come in."

The door opens and there's Tim, leaning against the frame with something resembling his old teasing grin on his face, and Melanie beside him, looking very much as if she'd been listening to their conversation with her ear pressed against the door. Neither of them seem even slightly sorry.

"Congratulations, boss," Tim says, "you've managed to find a whole new way for this place to fuck up your life. I didn't think it could get much worse, but," he spreads his arms in a broad shrug, "guess I was wrong."

"It was hardly my idea," Jon mutters. He runs a hand through his hair again, then straightens his shoulders in a way that Martin recognizes from particularly draining statements. All at once his anger is replaced with pained sympathy. _Of all the people to be faced with this..._ "Well," he continues, "now at least you all known, although it shouldn't make much difference for now. As he's an avatar of a power of loneliness, I can't imagine we'll be seeing much of Captain Lukas. The -" he pauses very briefly. "The date is set for June."

"Oh, June weddings are lovely," Tim says, dripping sarcasm.

"With any luck the Unknowing will be before then and maybe we'll be in a better position to negotiate," Jon continues as if Tim hadn't spoken.

There's a long silence. "Okay," Melanie says when no one else has a response. "That's -" She looks around at them, a little helplessly. "This is really weird, right? Even for here? I mean this is a _lot_."

"That's what I said!" Martin agrees, nearly at a squeak. Tim just shrugs.

Jon sighs, but he nods a little, too. "Be that as it may," he says in his best "I am your boss and I've made a decision" voice, "this is my problem to deal with, not yours. I need all of you focused on the Unknowing. With any luck the rest of this," he gestures, then grimaces when he realizes he's used his left hand, "will all take care of itself."


	2. Though the Courting was Woe

The first batch of flowers arrive the next morning. Martin sneezes when he walks into the archives and lifts his head to find himself face to face with what has to be at least fifty long-stemmed red roses in a vase that looks suspiciously like Waterford crystal. They reek of ostentatious expense, not to mention the perfume.

Basira walks by with a cup of tea and sees him staring dolefully at the bouquet. "A couple of delivery men dropped them off at six this morning," she tells him, and Martin chooses not to ask what she was doing here at six AM when she doesn't even have any work to do besides "be a hostage." "Nice, aren't they?"

Martin would like to sneeze on them again, but the urge has passed, so he just sighs. "They must be from -"

"Jon's fiancé. Yeah, I heard." She sips her tea and gives Martin a long, considering look.

_Know-it-all_, Martin thinks, annoyed at his own childishness. She doesn't even have the justification of being bound to an eldritch all-seeing all-knowing eye, she's only been here less than a week. "Do you think we ought to get rid of them?" he asks, proud of how steady his voice remains.

Basira shrugs, then behind him Martin hears the door creak open and Jon says, "Christ." Then he sneezes. Martin is unfairly pleased; he wouldn't have expected Jon to be thrilled with roses, but this is better than he'd imagined.

Jon reaches into the bouquet and plucks out a card that had been hidden so effectively among the blooms Martin hadn't even noticed it. He glances it over, rolls his eyes, and drops it back on the table. Martin can't read what it says from where he's standing, but there's clearly nothing handwritten there. "Well," he says, sounding tired, "I have...no idea what to do with this."

Martin chews his lip, considering. Obviously the sooner they're gone the better. Maybe...

"I think Caroline in Accounting has an anniversary this week. Oh, and so does Sumana in Artifact Storage. And Mark's always complaining his boyfriend never does anything dramatic. Maybe if we split it up it won't be quite so..." he eyes the flowers with distaste. "Overwhelming."

Jon nods. "I suppose if someone might get some enjoyment out of them." He sounds utterly unimpressed by the prospect. But then he reaches out, hesitantly, and snags one of the blossoms by the top of the stem. Basira raises an eyebrow at him. "I just - there are, um. For the files. It occurs to me we ought to be keeping better track of the Lukases, if they're so important to the Institute."

"Sure," Basira says, entirely neutral. Jon disappears into his office, the door firmly shut behind him, and Martin sets to redistributing the flowers. The sooner they can be rid of them, the better.

* * *

The gifts continue to trickle in all week: more flowers, expensive chocolates, the odd bottle of wine. It's all terribly generic and unappealing, and after the first couple Martin decides not to waste his energy getting rid of them after all, because the annoyed look on Jon's face every time he sees another package is immensely gratifying. (He's not feeling jealous because Jon is being forced to marry a monster, he's _not_. But it certainly isn't _enjoyable_, watching Jon be courted, even if he clearly doesn't like it.)

Jon spends most days pretty well locked in his office, and while Martin wants to be glad that he's finally back, honestly there really isn't much difference from the months when Jon was off wherever he was hiding from the police. Except that now the police are here, Basira propped up in a corner with a book whenever Martin turns around, and instead of the threat of a murder investigation hanging over all of them there's the threat of the end of the world. And, apparently, Jon's impending wedding.

It's perked up Tim, at least. He's still not doing any _work_ to speak of but instead of sulking at his desk and glaring at everyone he's reading wedding blogs and emailing decorating ideas to Jon. He's got fabric swatches. He's probably a little over-committed to what Martin is almost positive is an attempt to annoy Jon, but it's still good to see him be anything other than blankly nihilistic.

By the end of the day on Friday Martin is resigned to living with the scent of roses until - well, until all this is over one way or another. (At least Sumana was happy to see them.) It's been an unproductive day; Melanie, it turns out, mutters to herself as she works, and it's been driving him up the wall. He's trying to decide whether to go home or stay and make sure Jon doesn't fall asleep at his desk again when the door to the Archives creaks open to reveal a very well-dressed older man who peers about the room with interest.

"Uh, sorry," Martin says, getting to his feet and hurrying around the desk, "were you - here to make a statement? I'm afraid the Archives is usually off-limits..."

"Hm, now that's an idea," the man says. He turns a broad, friendly smile in Martin's direction. _Oh, he's very handsome._ "I was looking for the Archivist, however."

Martin thinks quickly. It is getting late, and on a Friday no less; not to mention that Jon looks more haggard by the day and Martin _knows_ what taking statements is like. Well. He knows what reading them is like, and he can't imagine it's much better taking them in person. "I'm afraid he's - not available at the moment," he says carefully, not wanting to lie in case he is found out somehow. "If you'd like to leave your name I can certainly get back to you, or..."

But the gentleman is shaking his head at him, although he hasn't lost the smile. Martin isn't sure if he's being flirted with or condescended to. "Oh, I'm happy to wait," he says, and leans against the wall next to Jon's office door and puts his hands in his pockets. He glances around, assessing. "Rather a dark sort of place you've got here, isn't it? Not at all what I would have expected."

"It's better during the day," Martin says stubbornly. "When we're not all going home for the weekend. I really do think you ought to come back later."

"I'm sure you do." The man taps the heel of one of his shiny black boots against the tile. "But I'm perfectly all right here."

Martin is just trying to rally himself for another line of attack when Jon, of course, chooses this moment to stick his head out of his office to see what's going on. He raises an eyebrow at Martin, then catches sight of their visitor. His mouth thins. "Captain Lukas."

The gentleman - Captain Lukas - Peter Lukas, Jon's _fiancé_ \- beams. "Jonathan!" he says cheerfully, "Call me Peter, please. You know, I've never been down in the Archives before, it's really rather nice. And your staff is very," he pauses, but pointedly does not look back at Martin. "Protective."

Martin flushes, half with irritation, but Jon just says, "He's very valuable to the Archives," which does nothing to alleviate Martin's blush. "Can I help you?" he asks in the tone of voice that means "please go away."

Lukas takes no notice, putting his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels with a smile. "I've made dinner reservations. A little short notice, granted, but Elias assured me I wouldn't be interfering with any other plans." Martin wonders frantically if he could get away with inventing other plans on the spot.

"I fail to see why Elias thinks he gets to manage my social calendar," Jon mutters.

"Terrible, isn't he?" Lukas agrees. "Always has his nose in other people's business. Still, he's usually right. Won't you join me?" He seems to have forgotten Martin's there, leaving him standing to the side feeling very much the third wheel. Lukas has fixed Jon with an intent stare at least as intimidating as Elias at his worst.

"What, _now_?" Jon protests, flatly annoyed.

Lukas glances at his watch. "Reservations are for about half an hour from now, so yes. My dear Archivist," he says, ignoring the way Jon's face twists at the endearment (and, surely, unaware of Martin's surge of sympathetic anger), "you have to eat something other than statements."

He looks very pleased with himself. Jon has his arms folded and is glaring like he can extract more details about Lukas's motivations by sheer force of will. Actually, Martin wonders, can he? It's a possibility. He'll have to ask -- later, when Lukas has gone. If Jon would even answer.

"Fine," Jon says, angry. "I'll get my coat."

"Grand," Lukas says, unbothered by Jon's tone, at the same time Martin squeaks, "Really?"

Lukas continues to ignore him. Jon glances over at him and Martin flinches even though he's almost sure the anger isn't meant for him, mouths an apology. Jon sighs and rubs his temples. "It'll probably do me good to get out of here a little early for once," he says to neither of them in particular, and disappears back into his office for his coat. And Martin might have agreed, probably should have, except that Jon hasn't been in the Archives for months. He's only been back for a few days, and now Peter Lukas is here dragging him off to romantic dinners. Martin realizes he's being ridiculous but, he tells the more reasonable part of himself, he doesn't care. This whole situation is ridiculous. And it can't be safe, going off alone with someone - _something_ \- like that.

But that's exactly what's happening, as Jon shrugs on his coat and lengthens his stride to get away from the hand Lukas attempts to rest in the small of his back. Martin's fingernails bite into his palms. He's upset on Jon's behalf, he tells himself. It's a violation, what they're asking of him. He doesn't think about Jon's willingness to go along.

Tim wanders out of the back room, tapping idly at his phone, and looks around. "Well look at that," he drawls, "the spooky boss actually does leave this place sometimes. I was starting to wonder."

"Oh, shut up, Tim," Martin snaps. Tim looks at him in exaggerated shock and Martin adds, "You're not the only one allowed to be miserable."

* * *

There really is no need for concern. The terms of this particular arrangement were negotiated in excruciating detail and there's no chance that Peter Lukas will be meddling with them at this stage of affairs. Elias is simply checking up on his Archivist, who is at a particularly vulnerable stage of development and who, besides, has not shown the greatest of self-preservation instincts when turned loose on the streets of London. Besides, it's been some time since he's seen Peter. It seems worthwhile to check in on him, find out what he's like now, if he's anything like the man Elias remembers.

While he watches, Elias opens a budget spreadsheet and begins running numbers. He finds it soothing most days, although just now the Sustaining Donations line item is a persistent reminder of just why it is he's putting up with this whole charade.

The restaurant Peter escorts Jon to is rich even for Elias's blood; he's decided to show off, then. Hopefully that means he'll be on his best behavior. Of course, Peter's best behavior is ostentatiously romantic, which is putting Jon's back up rather severely. Elias can feel the tension knotting his shoulders when Peter pulls a chair out for him and he winces sympathetically. At least he lets Jon order his own meal.

"So," Peter says, flashing that infuriatingly attractive grin, "tell me about yourself."

Jon snorts. "Does it matter?" he asks, the full weight of his considerable natural disdain behind the question. "I thought the decision was made already, surely what you think of me personally isn't relevant." A fleeting smile crosses Elias's face as he adjusts a formula. His Archivist, charming as always.

"Well, can you blame me for wanting to get to know my own fiancé?" Peter says. "We may be promised but that doesn't mean we can't make the best of things." He reaches out to touch Jon's hand but Jon twitches it away in a manner that almost looks natural. Elias silently applauds.

"I rather think making the best of things would involve a deal more personal privacy," Jon mutters, fiddling with his napkin. "Besides," he adds with a sharp look, "I suspect you know more about what I am at this point than I do."

Peter laughs and leans back in his chair, a smile playing at his lips. "I wouldn't say that. Although I do know a little about taking care of you Beholding types." He says this with a wink that Elias knows is meant for him, although it makes Jon splutter indignantly. He stretches out a leg, brushing up against Jon's under the table. Jon jerks back much less elegantly this time, making the glassware rattle.

"Come now," Peter says, dropping the flirtatiousness for a moment and letting Jon see the hollow darkness behind his eyes. "If you keep acting like a skittish horse the waiter's going to get suspicious, an old queer like me out with a nervous young thing like you."

"I do _not_ look that much younger than you," Jon says, which by Peter's smile he takes as a complement but Elias knows is meant as a self-deprecating observation on Jon's own appearance. "And I am not _skittish_," he adds firmly, "but I would appreciate it if you will stop invading my personal space."

"Fair enough!" Peter drops his elbows on the table, all genial smiles again, as if nothing untoward had ever happened. "Now. You were saying, about yourself?"

The rest of the dinner is quiet by comparison, meaningless getting-to-know-you chat in which neither of them give up anything of importance. Although he never seems to enjoy himself, Jon eventually relaxes into a more agreeable state, although he continues to scowl when Peter tries to flirt. Peter, of course, flirts relentlessly and seems entirely charmed by Jon's refusal to be charmed.

It's not much better than the disaster Elias had imagined it might be, but at least it's no worse. He'd been concerned, when Nathaniel had first proposed this little scheme, that it was all an elaborate revenge for Gertrude's disruption of their ritual. That's seeming less and less likely. Still, Elias can't work out what exactly the Lukases are gaining from this - they have, appropriately, never been very forthcoming about their patron - or why Peter would agree to be a part of it, when normally he relished avoiding his family's plans.

Aside, that is, from putting his hands all over Elias's Archivist. His hand has landed in the small of Jon's back as Peter escorts him, all gentlemanly manners, to a taxi, and the fact that Jon is focused hard on not flinching away does nothing to prevent Elias from gritting his teeth. Peter is going to push this as far as he possibly can, and Elias is going to have to be the one to tell him to back off, because Jon, for all his prickly abrasiveness, does not seem to be capable of enforcing his own boundaries. Well, if that's how it is, Elias will have to lay down some boundaries of his own.

He watches Jon make his way home, climb into the shower before it has a chance to warm up. Peter, of course, disappears into the Lonely moments after paying Jon's cab driver, reminding Elias that he couldn't have seen anything of their dinner unless Peter had decided to allow it. He refuses to rush shutting down his computer, tidying his office for the night, packing his things to go home. It's late, but no later than he's stayed many times before. Everything went smoothly - as smoothly as Peter Lukas taking Jonathan Sims on a date could be expected to go. There really is no need for concern.

Elias takes the time for one more look in on Jon, who is failing to read a book while he worries himself over the implications of Peter's apparent interest. His Archivist is perfectly safe, Elias tells himself, and he is not worried. He almost believes himself.


	3. All Over-Run With Rue

It bothers Martin how quickly things get to back to normal in the Archives. Well, whatever passes for normal these days - Tim doing anything but work, Melanie bouncing back and forth between the Archives and the Library and Artifact Storage on projects she never explains, Basira sitting in corners with a stack of books that changes over far too quickly. It's been so long since Jon's been in the Archives on a regular basis that Martin doesn't even worry about him except when he remembers to. Usually when they take delivery of another installment of the steady stream of romantic gifts: chocolates, flowers, candied fruit, bottles of wine, and in one memorable instance a deep blue cashmere scarf the same color as the ring on Jon's hand that disappeared before Martin could figure out what to do with it. He thinks about the possibility of seeing Jon wearing it next winter and seethes.

He's found himself staying late more often, as if to make up for Jon's absence. Maybe the Archives itself wants someone here all the time, and if it can't have the Archivist it'll settle for an assistant. The thought doesn't worry him as much as it should. But he's read another statement today, and he doesn't want to risk the tube until he feels a little more himself. Something about the thought of being surrounded by strangers while he's got someone else's terror rattling around inside his head is too much to bear.

Which is why he's still sitting at his desk well after hours, sorting through notes on a stack of easily-discredited statements, to catch the scent of cigarette smoke coming through the window.

Martin's throat closes up, and not from the smoke itself. He takes a couple of deep breaths, considering. There's only one person who smokes in the alley behind the Institute at this time of night. If Jon wanted to talk to someone, surely he'd come inside. But then, why would Jon assume there would be anyone here so late?

He gets up before he can second-guess himself, easing open the emergency exit (if there had ever been an alarm it had been disabled ages ago). He stops halfway through the door, bracing himself on it. Jon is leaning against the wall, exhaustion in the slump of his shoulders and the droop of his head. Martin can't quite see from here, but it looks like his eyes are closed. Jon lifts a hand slowly, takes a drag on his cigarette, and Martin's always had a policy about not kissing smokers but the curve of Jon's fingers against his jaw and the smoke curling around his lips as he exhales is enough to throw principles out the window.

Not that anything's going to happen. Martin is very sure Jon has never once looked at him in that way, and Martin -- well, Martin's never been one to make the first move. Not like that, anyway. He pushes the door a little further open, letting it scrape against the concrete to announce his presence, and Jon jumps so hard Martin can hear his head crack against the wall.

"Sorry," Martin says, at the same time Jon says, "Christ, Martin," though his tone is more relieved than exasperated. It's been a long time since Jon has turned that derisive tone of voice in his direction, Martin realizes with a shock. It leaves him tripping over his own tongue. "I, um. I didn't know you were back? I mean, I smelled cigarette smoke and I figured it must be you, but..."

Jon sighs, looks dolefully at the cigarette in his hand, only half-finished, then drops it and stubs it out with his toe. "I really had quit," he laments softly. "It's been..." he trails off.

"Yeah," Martin agrees. "It has." He kicks the rock they use to prop the door into place, moves hesitantly closer. He stops with several feet of distance between them, further than he wants, but he doesn't especially trust himself right now. "Are you...all right?"

It's a loaded question at the best of times, so he's not surprised that Jon takes a moment to answer. His eyes are lidded again, and he brings a hand up to rub the back of his head where he'd knocked it against the wall. "We met Sarah Baldwin today - or the thing that used to be her, I - I don't know," he says eventually. "Daisy and I. At the old taxidermist's shop, from Alexander Scaplehorn's statement?"

Martin nods at Jon's questioning glance. Jon sighs, lifts his hand to take another drag from his cigarette, drops it when he remembers he's put it out already. "It remembered Sasha. Or - the thing that wasn't Sasha, I suppose." The strain in his voice hits Martin almost as hard as the words themselves. He wants so badly to reach out, to offer some kind of comfort, but he's seen Jon flinch at the first hint of physical contact and he won't do that to him.

Instead he just says, "Oh my god," the only other thing running through his head anyway, and Jon sighs again and nods. "Is it." Martin swallows, terrible images cropping up in the wake of that first shock. "Did it. Are you hurt?" He's not sure he succeeded in keeping the hint of panic out of his voice.

Jon snorts, a sad imitation of laughter. "No," he says, and he almost sounds regretful. "Daisy hurt it, I think, if something like that can be hurt. She shot it, at least." There's a fire in his eyes at that, a fierce satisfaction.

"Good." Jon looks up in surprise, and Martin meets his eyes steadily. Something in the way Jon is looking at him makes his stomach turn over, in spite of the horror, in spite of the amorphous grief he always feels at the thought of Sasha, who apparently he can't even remember enough to miss properly. What's the difference between fear and attraction anyway, he thinks giddily, but what he says is, "I hope it's dead." It comes out fiercer than he expected.

"I doubt that. We never seem to be that lucky." Jon closes his eyes again, leaning back against the wall, and Martin gives up on professionalism.

"When was the last time you slept?"

Jon's mouth twists with some indescribable emotion, but he doesn't answer directly. "Yes, Martin, I was just on my way home. I needed to drop a few things off first." He kicks a little at the bag sitting by his feet. "Elias was generous enough to leave another statement for me to find," he adds, bitter.

"Oh." Martin bites his lip, worrying at it the same way he worries at the thought that won't leave him alone, until he decides, _to hell with it._ "Doesn't he have _anything_ better to do than manipulate you?"

His laugh this time is closer to genuine, and Martin allows himself just a moment to bask in the pride of being able to draw something other than anguish out of Jon. "Apparently not." Jon sighs again and shoves himself off the wall to vertical with a visible effort. "All right," he says, "let me just file this and I'll leave you alone."

Martin insists on giving him a hand, knowing perfectly well that if he leaves Jon alone in the Archives he'll wind up sucked in to some statement or research and he'll be there all night; Jon gives in just a little too easily, which Martin hopes means he's just that tired and nothing more sinister. He finds himself lingering, though, unwilling to let this quiet moment pass.

Finally he can't hold the question back any more. "How was dinner?" he asks, aiming for casual and winding up somewhere in the realm of artificially cheerful. Jon blinks at him uncomprehendingly. "With Peter Lukas?" God, his voice is getting higher with every syllable, this is humiliating.

"Oh," Jon says, understanding at last. "Intolerable. He certainly thinks a lot of himself." He rolls his eyes, so _normal_ for a second Martin's heart aches. "At least I haven't heard from him since."

"You don't have to do this, you know," he blurts out. "I know we're all irretrievably tied to some horrible fear god and we're stuck working here until we die or until the world ends, whichever comes first, but that doesn't mean Elias can just...just _marry you off_."

Jon's face closes over again as soon as he starts talking, and Martin regrets it immediately. He'd been so relaxed for once, and had they ever been able to talk like this, like they were actually friends? _But it's true_, Martin thinks defiantly. This really was too far, no matter what hold Elias had on all of them.

"I think he can, actually," Jon says softly, and Martin wants to shake him and tell him he still has the right to stand up for himself, _Jesus, Jon,_ but he holds still, fists clenching at his thighs. "At any rate, we have plenty of other things to be worrying about. My - well. This is trivial." He brushes the subject aside with a flick of his wrist, and Martin bites his tongue to stop himself from ruining it further. Jon hefts his bag back onto his shoulder. "Good night, Martin," he says, not unkindly.

"Night," Martin offers in response. He waits until he's sure Jon is gone before he starts packing up his things, their conversation churning in his mind along with too many emotions to sort out clearly. He's convinced of one thing, though. If Jon isn't going to stand up for himself, someone is going to have to.

* * *

Despite his employees' paranoid concerns, Elias cannot actually see everything that goes on in the Institute all at once. He may no longer be human, but he still has a human brain, and it can only manage so many sources of input at one time. What does happen is that he will, on a regular basis, skim the minds and activities of various departments on the lookout for something interesting, which is how he's discovered that Martin Blackwood is spending the morning working himself up for a confrontation.

It's rather endearing, really. His anger and devotion - all on Jon's behalf, of course, he would never be so fierce for his own sake - at war with his wholly justifiable fear. Fear is winning for the time being, but Elias is sure it's only a matter of time before he has a very upset Archival Assistant in his office.

It's a pity, really, that he'll have to defend and justify the Lukases' demands when all he wants is to throw the same anger back at Nathaniel and Peter. Of course, Elias learned a long time ago not to waste energy on pointless fits of emotion.

Watching Martin is probably why he doesn't notice Peter Lukas until the man steps out of his own personal fog to lean a hip against Elias's desk and looks down at him with a friendly grin. It's clearly an attempt to be intimidating, but Elias refuses to be intimidated in his own office, and he can summon a fair amount of intimidation himself, when he needs to. "Peter," he says by way of greeting, letting no emotion into it.

"Elias," Peter says in response, cheerful as ever, although Elias can feel the hollow echo behind that friendly facade in his bones.

"How can I help you?" he asks after a beat when Peter doesn't say anything. Friendly and professional, that's the way to approach this. No need to let anyone know that this entire situation has him twitchy and on edge. Least of all Peter.

Peter has the gall to look affronted. "I can't just drop in on an old friend in the middle of the afternoon?"

Elias bites his tongue to give himself a moment to consider his response. It doesn't help much. "An ex is not quite the same thing as an old friend. Particularly when you're also currently engaged to my subordinate." Which is an accurate word for what Jon is to him, certainly.

"Oh, well," says Peter, turning the guest chair around to fold his arms across its back and regard Elias with an uncharacteristic intensity. "I thought that was all behind us, I suppose. Not still carrying a torch, are we?" He looks positively gleeful at the prospect.

"Hardly." He watches Peter right back; if there's going to be a staring contest, there's no doubt which one of them will win it. Elias is aware he's being petty and cannot bring himself to care. "If you really did just show up to annoy me, you may consider your mission fulfilled. I really do have a great deal of work to be getting on with." Elias doesn't go back to his work, though, just maintains unblinking eye contact and waits for Peter to flinch.

Which he doesn't, of course, his grin turning a little lecherous. "There was a time you'd have been happy to have me distract you from your work." He gives Elias a lingering once-over, thinking so intently about some of those times that Elias doesn't need to read his mind to see it on his face.

The urge to roll his eyes is overwhelming. "A time long past, thank you. And need I remind you, again, that you're engaged to someone else?"

"Oh, as if that matters to either of us." Peter brushes the engagement off with a flippant gesture, and Elias shoves an unexpected flash of anger down and packages it away to consider later. Despite his control something must show, because Peter gives him a curious look and says, "Glad to see you're taking this seriously, though. Nate thought you might just be playing along with the intent of throwing us to the wolves when you'd got what you wanted."

"And what does he imagine I'm getting out of this arrangement," Elias snaps back without thinking. He sighs - Peter has always been able to break through his self-control, dammit. "I can assure you, I am taking the situation at least as seriously as you are."

Peter smirks, but his eyes have gone hollow again. "Not saying much, eh?"

"Since you're here," Elias says, determined to change the subject even though this is hardly the best time for what he has to bring up, "there is something I wanted to ask you." Definitely not the best time; he's raw and on edge, and Peter sitting here smirking and talking about his engagement to Jon like it's another of his petty games is not helping matters, but in spite of all that there are still more important things that need his attention. He concentrates and relaxes so that it isn't through a clenched jaw that he says, "A favor."

Peter, of course, looks delighted. "Really? Well, I suppose that's fair enough, all things considered. What sort of favor were you thinking of?"

Elias cuts him off before he can suggest something appalling like a honeymoon threesome. "The Archivist is reaching an important stage in his development," he says, hoping the detached language will help disrupt the mental image he's just given himself, "and sooner or later will need to be cut loose from his previous supports. The marriage might help with that," he admits grudgingly, "but you have promised not to remove him from his proper sphere of influence. I will need to be...out of the way, and I'll need someone to keep an eye on the Institute while I'm gone."

"And you'd trust me with it?" Peter asks with a raised eyebrow. "Administration is hardly my forté, Elias, you know that." He doesn't say no, though, and that's the most promising sign Elias has had all day.

"We both know you're not as hopeless as you pretend to be," he says, trying not to let familiarity sound like fondness. "You've managed that ship of yours for -- how long is it now?"

"Long enough." Peter straightens up from where he was slumped over the back of the chair, stretching as he regards Elias with an unreadable expression. "I'll have full access to the Archives, of course."

This time Elias does roll his eyes. "Still obsessed with your fifteenth Power, are you? Yes, of course, the Head has access to anything in the Institute."

"Grand." Peter stands and offers his hand to shake on it, and Elias gives him a dirty look, sure there's something he's missing in this negotiation if it was that easy, and as he rises to look Peter in the eye again there's a knock on the door and Martin Blackwood is standing in his office, chin up to disguise its trembling.

That's twice now this morning that Elias has been walked in on without warning, and if he wasn't in a foul mood already this would certainly do the trick. Martin is looking back and forth between Elias and Peter, slightly panicked. He's been thrown off his script already, and he clearly wants to apologize for interrupting and then scurry away, but to Elias's mild surprise he does neither, only clenches his fists at his sides and meets Elias's gaze with a heretofore unseen stubbornness.

"Martin," Elias says, not quite succeeding in schooling his tone into its usual placid serenity. "What can I do for you. As you can see, I'm in the middle of something."

"Oh, don't mind me," Peter says unhelpfully, moving away from Elias's desk and leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. "Just on my way out."

Martin spares Peter a furious look, but steels himself and turns back to Elias. "I just wanted to tell you," he says, and his voice is tight and a little high but steady, "that you've really crossed a line and this whole - _engagement_ thing is - is too much. You can't just marry people off like he's - like they're your property, and you can't just expect people to be okay with it."

His devotion is adorable, really. Useless, but rather sweet. "People?" Elias asks with mock innocence, "Or you? I think you'll find that Jon has agreed to the arrangement of his own free will. It's all perfectly above board. And, truly," he adds, as if it's an afterthought, "not really any of your concern, is it?"

Martin flushes at that, embarrassment or anger or both, and Elias doesn't bother to conceal a smirk. He's so dreadfully easy to play. Martin shoots a glare at Peter, who has nothing to say about any of this, merely continues watching them both with bemused interest. "Jon doesn't believe he has the right to say no," Martin says stubbornly, and that's more insight than Elias had expected from him, really, "but that doesn't mean the rest of us are willing to just let you control his entire life."

Adorable, really, "the rest of us," as if Timothy and Melanie and Basira had any second thoughts for Jon's personal life. "Charming," Elias says, dry as old bone. "Now that you've issued your unnecessary and frankly uninteresting threats, may I get back to my meeting, or did you have anything else?"

"I. No. I-" Martin clearly spent more time working himself up to this than figuring out what to say. "That's all." He raises his chin again, defiantly, and Elias sits down again with a sigh, watching patiently. Martin wilts a little, the steel in his spine collapsing along with his argument, and he hesitantly turns and slips almost shamefully out the door.

When he glances back, Peter is gone. Elias takes a moment to close his eyes and center himself. Maybe, he thinks, he should leave the Institute sooner rather than later. At this rate the strain is liable to kill him anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters Four and Five will be posted on Tuesday and the rest of the fic on Friday.


	4. Green Willow it Will Twist, Green Willow it Will Twine

There's a box of expensive chocolates waiting on his desk when Jon arrives at work - at least, he assumes they're expensive, everything else has been - and he deposits them on the spare desk in the assistants' office before settling in. It's petty and probably pointless, but he can't stand the thought of accepting any of Peter's ridiculous gifts, even if the man will never know one way or the other.

Tim is already there, earlier than he's been in for weeks, and Jon is about to comment on it when Tim says, "Have you considered venues? There's a nice place in Mayfair - bit out of my price range, but I imagine budget isn't a consideration with the Lukases." He almost sounds like his old cheerful self except for the brittleness under his cheerful tone.

Jon considers a range of responses, but he doesn’t particularly want to antagonize Tim into shouting at him this early in the morning, so he just says, "I haven’t been asked for any input."

"Can't say that I blame them," Tim says, shaking his head. "It's almost like you don't _want_ to get married."

Jon leaves the chocolates and goes back to his office.

He does his best to focus on work. Despite the pressure of the Unknowing he still doesn't know what he needs to know, and so the cycle of statements and follow-up research continues. Melanie's enthusiasm makes up for Tim's new hobby, and Martin seems to need a distraction these days, so there are plenty of details, none of which he can make cohere into a meaningful pattern. It feels like an itch at the back of his mind, something promising that he can't seem to identify and doesn't know how to pursue. When his phone rings - his mobile, not the desk phone - the distraction is a welcome relief.

GEORGIE, the screen says before he swipes it open, with a photo of the top of her head, her face buried in the Admiral's fur. Even here, it never fails to make him smile.

"Jonathan Sims," she shouts as soon as the call connects. "What the hell is going on at your terrible cult office? And do not tell me you did this yourself because I won't believe it."

"I don't know what you mean," he says, trying for sincere and landing on that horrible stuffiness that was probably the reason she'd thought he was faking his accent all those years ago. Even he wouldn't believe himself.

"Bullshit," says Georgie. "I set up a Google Alert so I'd know if you died or something, since apparently you're not talking to me now that you've gone back to work, and instead it gave me your _engagement notice_. To some guy who apparently comes from the kind of family where they put engagement notices in the paper!"

"He's an Institute donor," Jon mumbles, "and a - well, a monster. An Avatar. Of - of loneliness. Georgie, I meant to call, but it's been --"

Georgie is not in the mood to listen. "So now your evil stalker boss is pimping you out to monsters with money? Christ, Jon, just - I know you said you can't quit but have you tried? Or maybe try, I dunno, murdering your boss and hiding the body?"

"He says we'll all die if we try that," Jon answers.

There's a long pause. "Jesus. How many - no, wait, I don't want to know." She sighs into the phone and Jon feels miserable about this for the first time. He'd hoped that moving back into his own flat and out of Georgie's place would keep her away from all this. "God, Jon," she says despairingly.

"I can handle it," he says, not at all sure at the moment that he can. "You don't need to worry about me. It's - well, it's hardly the worst thing that's happened to me since I started working here." He flexes the hand Jude Perry shook, healed now but the movement of the scars still stiff and unfamiliar.

Georgie huffs into the phone. In the background the Admiral meows. "Fine," she says, "fine. If you aren't going to take this seriously then there's nothing I--" She stops and Jon can just see her digging a hand through her hair in frustration. "I'd tell you to be careful but I really don't think it'd do any good." She hangs up before he can answer.

Jon considers calling her back, thumb hovering over the button, but what is there to say? He hasn't been able to convince her that the hold the Archives have on him is irreversible, that even if he wanted to leave he doesn't think he'd be able to.

He decides not to look too closely at that "even if" and goes back to work.

And he isn't trying to listen in, really he isn't. But when Martin's phone rings out in the assistants' office just a few minutes later, he keeps an ear on the conversation anyway while paging through research notes on a statement made by an actor haunted by masked figures.

"Martin Blackwood, archival assistant." A pause, and then the professional tone drops. "Oh, d'you want me to get--" Another, longer pause. Then, flustered, "I mean I guess, I don't know that I'd say--" Whoever he's talking to doesn't seem all that interested in what Martin has to say. "Yeah," he says after another longer pause. "Yes, definitely." A short one. "Tonight? Oh - okay, around seven? I can pick up a curry." Short pause. "Sure, sure. Okay. Bye."

Jon unclenches his jaw as Martin hangs up. Probably just the phone call with Georgie putting him on edge, he thinks, but still. He doesn't really need to drop off the file, he has plenty to do, but he leaves his office to tap it on the edge of Martin's desk anyway. "Personal calls on Institute lines, Martin?"

Martin's pink with incriminating embarrassment and jumps when he notices Jon standing there. "No! Um, that is, just the one. Won't happen again." He reaches out to tug the file from Jon's hand. "I'll - I'll get this done before I leave."

"There's really no rush," Jon says, feeling suddenly bad for his stern boss routine. He really doesn't have the standing for it these days. But he's never been any good at apologies and Martin won't meet his eyes, so he ignores Melanie's pointedly raised eyebrows and goes back to his office and shuts the door behind him.

* * *

One of the benefits of running an organization like the Magnus Institute, rather than organizing a cult like so many of the other servants of the Great Powers, is the convenient excuse of staff meetings to keep tabs on his Archivist. A cult requires that all its followers are committed to the cause, but he would never have managed to ensnare Jon that way. Even now that he knows a good portion of the truth, the mundane necessities of managing the Institute help to calm his rebelliousness and paranoia. Not that Elias really needs to meet with Jon to know how he's doing, but given Peter's determined romanticism, he'll gladly take the excuse to see Jon in person. He seems to be bearing up well. Elias might prefer that he stay out of the Archives a little longer, but under the circumstances it's hardly surprising that he's retreated to a place of safety, and it certainly is gratifying that he considers the Archives such a place.

Besides, someone is going to have to write performance reviews for the Archives staff, and Elias frankly doesn't have the time.

"I still think there's more you aren't telling me," Jon is saying petulantly. He really been doing so well on his own, no matter how he refuses to see it for himself.

"Of course there is," Elias says reflexively. He sighs. "I've told you before, Jon, it's important that you find answers yourself. I can't just give you the information you need. I understand that there are...distractions, at the moment, but that doesn't change the facts of the matter."

Jon snorts at _distractions_. "You know, Tim has given up moping entirely to spend all his time doing wedding planning. If I'd known all it took to engage his attention was to give him the chance to humiliate me I might have tried it sooner." He sounds infuriatingly fond, and Elias resists the urge to give him another lecture on the disposability of assistants; now is hardly the time. "Although I do wish he was helping with some actual research instead of putting cake tastings on the Institute credit card."

Elias raises an eyebrow. "I certainly haven't noticed anything like that."

"No, I." Jon frowns. "It wasn't - here, I think -- " He's thinking hard, and a thrill runs up Elias's spine. Beholding-touched indeed; if he knows that without reason, then maybe he's progressing after all.

"Did he tell you?" Elias asks, failing to keep the excitement entirely out of his voice. "Or did you just know?" It would have been better, of course, if it had been information that _mattered_, rather than nonsense about Peter Lukas's little absurdity, but he'll take what he can get.

"I don't." Jon looks a little panicked, and Elias resists the urge to offer a comforting touch. There's too much chance it would backfire. "I - this is ridiculous, I must have -- "

"It is," Elias agrees, "but it's a very good sign nonetheless. It's all right, Jon," he says to Jon's slumped resignation. "Just - keep working. It will all come together in the end." Meaningless platitudes, but they seem to do the job. Elias laces his fingers together on his desk so he doesn't reach out and put a hand on Jon's arm.

Jon rubs a hand over his face. "You really shouldn't sound so pleased about the news that one of your employees is abusing his position." He casts Elias a sidelong glance. "I don't suppose it's a firing offense," he suggests.

Elias doesn't quite smother a smile. "I'm afraid not. Mr. Stoker will have to continue his work, such as it is, for a while longer."

Jon sighs. "Worth a try," he mutters.

"Indeed."

* * *

"I just don't know if there's anything to _do_," Martin says, not for the first time that night. He knows it's not helpful, but he's honestly out of ideas.

He's sitting on the floor of Jon's ex-girlfriend's living room, which is apparently where Jon was living when he was on the run from the police because Elias let everyone think he'd committed a murder. He's still trying to wrap his head around that, honestly, that Jon even has an ex-girlfriend, let alone one who would let him stay with her for four months without any explanation. Martin would very much like to hate her but she's smart and no-nonsense and just as determined as Martin to figure out a way to get Jon out of this ridiculous situation. She also, when Martin started to get melancholy at about the third drink, suggested they move their meeting back to hers so that Martin could pet her cat while he sobered up. It's helping.

Martin sighs and scratches his fingers through the Admiral's abundant orange fur. The cat purrs happily at him. He'd never pictured Jon as a cat person, although it makes perfect sense now that he knows. Do cats sleep next to people, like dogs do, he wonders? Did the Admiral sleep curled up next to Jon on the sofa?

"There's always crashing the ceremony itself," Georgie muses. She's sitting on the floor too, back propped against the sofa, legs stretched out. She keeps batting at the Admiral's tail, too tired to move over and pet him properly. At least, Martin is fairly certain she's not drunk, she doesn't seem like she could be as much of a lightweight as he is.

He makes a pained noise at the thought of having to put up with this long enough to actually go to a wedding. To go to _Jon's_ wedding. Even if he would look lovely in a good suit - it isn't worth it. "Why is he such an idiot?" Martin complains.

Georgie laughs. "Which one? I mean, Jon, obviously, he's always been like this. You have to wonder what the other guy is getting out of it."

"Jon," Martin mutters, resentful. "But I think it's - some kind of monster thing? Although why the - the fear of loneliness wants people to be married, I don't understand at all." Georgie had told him that Jon had explained the whole monster business to her, which seems a little unfair. Martin would like the whole thing explained to him one of these days. He scowls down at the Admiral, who continues to purr, unconcerned.

"I dunno," Georgie says, "lots of people are more lonely when they're married, that makes sense. Don't know that Jon would be one of them." She looks thoughtful. "It would probably do it for whoever he's married to, though, maybe they're into that."

In the considering silence that follows, Martin glances shyly at her out of the corner of his eye. He hasn't wanted to ask - well, he has, but he knows it's ridiculous and embarrassing and she has no reason to answer. Still. "He doesn't - it sounds like you didn't get on all that well? I mean, you broke up, obviously, but then he moved in here when he - after the murders, and." Shut up, Martin.

Georgie's shaking her head, but she's smiling a little, too. "God, he was a terrible boyfriend," she says, but it sounds very fond. Martin's gut twists with a jealousy he knows is entirely unreasonable, and he represses the irrational urge to defend Jon to someone who clearly knows him better than Martin does. "But I really should have known better. He didn't even know we were dating until we'd been going out together on a nearly daily basis for almost six weeks. Absolutely clueless." She gives Martin a pointed look. "Learn from my mistakes. If you want to date Jonathan Sims, you have to tell him that's what you're doing, or he'll find any excuse to believe otherwise."

Martin had already been feeling flushed from the alcohol and the uncomfortableness of talking with Jon's ex behind his back; now he's certain he's completely beet red. "I don't - I mean I wouldn't - that's not - " He can't muster a defense, isn't sure that he wants to. "He's my boss!" he finally squeaks out.

"Mmmm," Georgie says. She's slid down now so that she's lying mostly on her back, putting the Admiral within reach at last. She reaches out and pets his rear end, and he chirps in irritation, getting up and then flopping back down on his side. Martin takes the opportunity to rub the fluffy belly thus exposed, and Georgie sighs. "Brat," she says fondly, then props herself up on one elbow. "You know why I called you," she says, "and not anybody else?"

"Because Jon doesn't actually have any other friends?" Martin suggests, still blushing miserably.

"Well, yeah," Georgie admits. "But you're the one he wouldn't shut up about." That's so surprising that Martin looks back up at her, embarrassment forgotten. She nods in confirmation. "Whole time he was here, the only thing he said about his job - until I finally made him explain things - was Martin this and Martin that. So I figured, when he wouldn't talk to me, there must be a Martin at the Institute, and if Jon actually talks about him when he's not there, they must be friends."

"I'm not sure that's how it works --"

"It is with Jon," Georgie says firmly, and she flops back down. As an afterthought, she adds, "Also the girl at the front desk sounded like she likes you a lot."

"Rosie likes everyone," Martin says, but he's not thinking about that. He's thinking about Jon who apparently talks about him to other people. Other friends. Martin knows they're not close, not really, he hasn't been properly close with anyone in years. But apparently Jon's even worse off than he is, and Jon thinks about him when he's not around. It's a lot to process, especially given the circumstances.

There's a hollow thump from the floorboards as Georgie sits up by kicking out her legs and swinging up with the momentum. "Well," she says, "we're not gonna solve anything tonight, apparently, it's after one and I'm knackered. You're welcome to stay the night if you don't want to get home, I have it on good authority that the couch is very comfortable."

Martin has another mental flash of Jon curled up asleep on the couch in question, wrapped in a thin blanket, the Admiral curled up beside him. "No," he says hurriedly, "that's all right, I should - I have to go to work in the morning."

Georgie offers him a hand up. "Right, then, let me grab that box for you."

"What - what box?"

"Jon left some stuff here," Georgie's voice comes muffled from the hallway. "Just a few papers and things - took his tapes, obviously." She hands him a smallish cardboard box half-full with papers, a comb and a tube of toothpaste, and, mortifyingly, what looks like laundry. "If it was important he'd come for it eventually, but since you're here."

Martin takes it because what else is he going to do, but he says plaintively, "what am I supposed to tell him about where I got it from?" Jon's distracted but surely not distracted enough that he wouldn't notice Martin bringing him his things from his ex-girlfriend's place.

Georgie shrugs. "Tell him we've formed a coalition dedicated to breaking up his engagement and it was convenient."

"Sure," Martin says, "right." He takes the box with him, though, when he hurries to catch the train back to Stockwell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [check out tk's wonderful illustration of Admiral Bonding Time!](https://twitter.com/charmophron/status/1161051661290242048)


	5. You Will Have the Better of Them and I Will Have the Worse

Jon doesn't bother trying to disguise his foul mood; Peter has done nothing to deserve the courtesy. He's been dragged away from his work - and no, he was not in fact making any progress, but that's hardly the point - for yet another dinner date. Surely the whole point of an arranged marriage is that they're not supposed to need to date, for Christ's sake. But he's also starving, he realizes when Peter shows up with the announcement of dinner reservations; he can't remember if he's eaten lunch today, which usually means that he hasn't. Still, he'd agreed to come along more because he wasn't prepared to deal with whatever Peter's reaction would have been if he'd refused.

While the setting for their last...meeting was private (_intimate_, Jon's unfortunately thorough vocabulary suggests), this one feels excruciatingly public. Their table is in the middle of the floor of a sleek, modern restaurant with waiters who look professionally bored, and Jon can see at least three people he's fairly certain he's seen on television. This is the kind of place people come to be seen, and even more than the public engagement notification that Georgie found it makes the whole thing seem uncomfortably real.

Jon can't tell if anyone is actually looking at them, or if they'd be recognized if they were - well, if Peter would be recognized; he certainly wouldn't - but he's never been any good at social situations. Oxford gave him just enough exposure to the obnoxiously rich to know where to keep to himself, and this certainly does not qualify. He feels terribly exposed, stranded in the middle of the room like this, something more unsettling than anything the Archives have ever managed. It's less like being watched over by something greater than yourself, more like being prey stalked by a hunter.

Of course, if Peter feels any discomfort, he doesn't show it. He's his usual ingratiating self, and no matter how curt Jon's replies he continues to smile like he's having a delightful time. There's a chance, Jon supposes, that he's somehow playing into the demands of the Lukas's patron, but he can't actually imagine how any of this feeds into Loneliness. He'd much rather be at home with a book - all he's feeling now is irritation.

And, actually, a creeping sense of guilt. Peter's been nothing but polite - well, aside from abducting him off to a nice restaurant - and Jon is starting to feel like an ass sitting here and answering in monosyllables.

He allows himself to answer the next question Peter poses, about managing his unusual staff, and despite the lump in his throat when he mentions Sasha it turns into what is actually an interesting conversation about ordinary people's willingness to accept the reality of the supernatural. (Jon does not bring up the year of tapes he recorded under the guise of extreme skepticism. And, he thinks with relief, Peter's patron isn't obsessed with knowledge and he might not know about it if Jon doesn't mention it. The prospect of being able to keep a secret is a dizzying one.) It's almost beginning to be pleasant when a dark look crosses Peter's face and he curls his right hand, resting on the tablecloth, into a fist before visibly forcing himself to relax again.

Jon resists the urge to twist around in his seat like a child to see what had caught his attention and is grateful for it a moment later when Elias Bouchard walks up to their table, a stunningly beautiful and profoundly androgynous person on his arm. "Peter," he says calmly by way of greeting, sounding entirely like someone who's unexpectedly run into an old friend. "Jon." His gaze lingers almost long enough to be uncomfortable, though Jon can't read his expression and, as always, Elias gives no hints as to what he's thinking.

"Elias." Peter sounds calm but underneath the table his knee is bouncing. Jon is certain that if he can manage to follow whatever subtext is running between the two of them he'll learn something important about the relationship between the Beholding and the Lonely - and about his own future, all things considered. Pity he's never been very good at subtext.

Elias's date - and there's a thought Jon's mind stutters over, though there's no denying it, the way they're pressed against Elias's side - doesn't seem disturbed at being ignored, only smiles faintly. Jon offers a small nod, a concession to manners, and their smile goes wry and condescending before they return their attention to Elias.

"I'd forgotten this was a favorite of yours," Elias is saying to Peter, such an outrageous falsehood Jon chokes back a dry laugh. Peter doesn’t seem nearly so amused. "If you'd rather we leave--"

"Of course not," Peter says, frankly more politic than Jon expected of him. "It isn't as though I got custody of the place in the divorce." He flashes Elias a very white smile, which Elias doesn't react to at all.

Jon looks back and forth between them, trying to decide if that was meant to be a joke. "Divorce?" he says sharply, but no one seems interested in replying.

"We'll leave you alone then," Elias says to Peter, but he's looked back at Jon, one of his searching looks that had unsettled Jon even before he'd known Elias was more than just a slightly over-invested supervisor. "I trust you're getting along well."

"Swimmingly," says Peter, but Elias doesn't turn away until Jon, with no idea how to engage with any of this, gives him a slight nod.

When the appropriate pleasantries have been exchanged and Elias and his date have moved on to their own table, Jon turns back to Peter, brimming with questions. He settles on, "Was that a joke? I like to think that if you'd ever been married to Elias you'd have mentioned it before now, but I know better than to expect that much decency out of you already. How long have you two actually known each other?"

Peter laughs with genuine humor as he refills his glass. He goes through the whole tasting ritual - surely a delaying tactic, Jon thinks with irritation, he's probably drunk half the bottle already - before answering only the last of the questions. "Long enough," he says, infuriatingly. "Long enough to be above this kind of pettiness, I'd thought, but then Elias never can resist rubbing your face in it when he thinks he's got the upper hand." At Jon's half-started question, he says, "Surely you don't think he needs to be present to keep an eye on us?" There's a sort of smirk on his face that doesn't reach his eyes.

"Of course not." Jon has been trying very hard not to think about the extent of Elias's observational powers ever since he found out about them. He had been very serious when he'd told Martin that he'd given up on personal privacy some time ago.

In the corner of his eye Jon can see the host settling Elias and his date at their own table, and he frowns. "I hope whoever he's co-opted into this knows what they're getting into," he murmurs.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about them. That's Leslie Fairchild." Peter's fingers are drumming the table in a steady pattern that Jon wouldn't necessarily take for nerves except that he's never seen the man make an unnecessary gesture before. "You're aware, I'm sure, that after the Lukases, the Fairchilds are the second most substantial donor to the Institute's coffers." His smile goes sharp. "He's reminding me that I can be replaced if I...misbehave."

Jon scarcely notices, racking his brain for the references. _Falling_, he thinks. _The sky ate him_. "Any relation to Simon?" he asks, a little breathless.

Peter grins at him. "Something like that. You really are remarkable, you know."

"Are they -" He considers how best to phrase it. "Are they like you?"

"They'd like to think so, certainly. Bunch of Johnny-come-latelies compared to the family, though they're not bad at what they do." He gives Jon an appraising look. "But Elias was very clear that I'm not to interfere with internal Institute matters, and I think that filling you in on the Fairchilds would count as interference in his eyes."

Of course he had. Jon scowls. It's probably his irritation that puts the power into his next question, although it isn't until he tastes the static on the back of his tongue that he realizes what he's doing. "Whose idea was this _engagement_, anyway?"

Peter closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh that would have been indecent if it had any voice behind it. "Forgot what that was like," he says under his breath, eyes lidded. Then he meets Jon's eyes and smiles, leaning across the table conspiratorially. "It was mine," he says, and Jon can feel the tug of the compulsion that tells him he's telling the truth. "I thought it would be entertaining to steal Elias's new Archivist right out from under his nose." His smile broadens. "It seems I drastically underestimated just how much fun it would be."

Jon can feel his face heating, which is doing nothing to discourage Peter, who is clearly having the time of his life. He takes a much too large swallow of wine to cover it, and has to spend the next few seconds concentrating on not choking on it. When he's composed himself, Peter has relaxed again, and he's looking across the room at Elias. Who is, of course, not looking back; why would he? Peter does not look pleased.

He can be displeased all he likes; Jon still has questions. The way Peter had said - "Did you know the previous Archivist, then?" He's careful to keep the compulsion out of this one, but Peter answers just as readily.

"Only met her once." Peter drags his attention back to their table slowly. "Quite a woman, that one. If Elias hadn't shot her I was thinking about doing it myself."

"Christ." Jon can't help but glance about to see if anyone overheard the casual talk of murder, but there are no visible reactions. "You don't - that is, she - "

"My darling Archivist," Peter says, chuckling, "you really are much too paranoid. Never fear, my complaint was with Gertrude herself, not with the Archivist generally. You're quite safe with me."

Which was not remotely what Jon was concerned about but was, on reflection, somewhat reassuring. Even if he didn't entirely believe it. The need to understand the mess that Elias has made of his life is drowned for a moment beneath ordinary human curiosity, though, and he asks, "What was she like?"

Peter, it turns out, is more than willing to talk about Gertrude Robinson, and although half of it is complaints he never really seems more than slightly annoyed. Should he put that down to the fact that Gertrude was already dead and thus no longer a threat, Jon wonders, or would Peter talk so mildly about anyone he wanted to murder? Like the other avatars he's met, though, Peter apparently knew Gertrude very well by reputation even if he hadn't met her personally more than once.

"Oh yes, she knew absolutely everyone," Peter says easily when he mentions it. "Never gave away a thing, either; most of the people who knew her hadn't the slightest clue they weren't the first person touched by the Great Powers that she'd ever spoken to. Had them running all over the place for her, too, couldn't expect a sweet little old lady like that to do all her own traveling." Jon snorts, and Peter grins. "Quite. But it was useful, too. Even she couldn't be everywhere at once. She got a lot of her information from a fellow called Dekker, no fixed address, who was a thorn in - well, not my side, but plenty of people's."

Peter had never considered shooting Dekker, Jon is quite sure. "Dekker," he muses. "I read a letter from him once, about the -" he stops, remembering, then continues more slowly. "About something Gertrude called the Not-Them. Dekker trapped it, I think, in a, a table - I don't know how."

"Ah yes." Inhuman monster or not, Peter is managing a very convincing impression of sympathy for the moment. "That was a nasty one."

He steers the conversation easily back to lighter subjects, other people Peter knows who he supposes may have come up in statements. It's gossip, nothing of any real use other than confirming what Jon already suspected, that whatever supernatural ecosystem he's entangled himself in is much more interconnected than he'd previously wanted to believe. Still, it's a relief to be able to talk freely with someone who understands, who even if he won't answer questions replies with trivialities instead of smug obfuscation. When Peter slips the waiter a couple of very large bills as they prepare to leave, Jon realizes that he's completely forgotten to hate this.

They walk out into a crimson red sunset, the evening already beginning to turn cold. When Peter turns to him, the collar of his coat popped up against the wind, wearing a flirtatious grin, Jon's almost relieved. He doesn't want to _like_ Peter Lukas; his life is complicated enough as it is.

"Allow me to walk you home."

"That's certainly not necessary," Jon tries to say, but Peter is already steering him down the sidewalk and away from the cab stand. He thinks briefly of Georgie telling him about the lengths she went to sometimes to keep pushy dates from finding out where she lived. It's probably not worth the effort, unfortunately.

They pass by a large panel van and something about it catches Jon's attention at the same time Peter wraps a large hand around his arm and tugs. Jon reflexively struggles to pull away, but Peter moves him easily, putting himself between Jon and the van, and it turns Jon around enough that he can see two very large men climbing out of the van. They move awkwardly, like something about their joints isn't quite right, but they look no less dangerous for it.

_Breekon & Hope_, says the lettering on the side of the van, and "Oh, Christ," says Jon, and "Honestly," says Peter, and then Jon crumples to his knees as there's

static

and then

...

There's a warm hand steady on his back and a voice saying, "All right, sorry about that, but we really do need to move on before there's a scene, unless you want to talk to the police. That's it, very good," as Jon lifts his head. If this is what a migraine feels like, he needs to apologize to Tim for ever suggesting he could work through them. There's a pale haze around the edges of his vision and if his head isn't already cracked open against the brick wall he thinks he might try it to see if it relieves the pain. "Up you get," Peter is saying, hands on Jon's biceps, and he doesn't steady him as much as lift him straight up. It's a mild shock he can manage to stay upright.

"Can you walk?" Peter asks, and before Jon can say that no, he certainly can't, they're heading down the sidewalk again as if nothing had happened, except this time Peter has his arm around Jon's waist. He'd love to turn around to see what they'd left on the sidewalk behind them, but he doesn't dare risk the motion.

"What _was_ that?" he manages to ask eventually, but Peter answers the wrong question.

"I-Do-Not-Know-You," he says with distaste, the capital letters audible, "and lesser ones at that. I'm sorry to say I don't think I should walk you home after that; it surely has more to send when those two don't come back." They've stopped for a traffic light, and Peter moves away to look at Jon with something very like concern. "And I'm not sure you ought to be left alone. You're welcome to my protection for the night."

Jon doesn't have to think about it. "No," he says firmly, and the strength of it seems to lend him a little more energy. He shifts his weight off Peter's arm and finds he can hold it after all. "No, that won't be necessary."

"If Elias finds out I left you --" Peter objects, but Jon cuts him off.

"The Institute," he says. "It's safe there." He's thinking of the tunnels, if worst comes to worst, but at Peter's skeptical look he adds, "There's a cot in Document Storage. I work late sometimes."

Peter snorts. "'Course you do. All right then, the Institute." He doesn't quite let go but he does give Jon a little more space. He's reluctant to leave Jon at the Institute doors, but also apparently unwilling to enter the building without an explicit invitation, a useful bit of information Jon files away for later analysis. To his very great relief, the Archives are dark and empty, and he collapses onto the cot and into a blessedly dreamless oblivion.

* * *

  
Martin is surprised to find himself the first person in the Archives in the morning; usually either Jon or Basira is already making tea and settling in by half seven these days. There's too much work to do and too few of them to do it, especially with Tim more interested in antagonizing Jon about things that are none of his fault than in doing any work. Martin puts the worry out of his mind by making his own cup of tea instead, mentally reviewing the truly impressive stack of research he plans to work through today. Followups not likely to lead to anything but dead ends, details to cross-reference, witnesses to track down. There is also, he remembers with a shock of guilt, a statement that Elias had given him to record - god, two weeks ago now. He's always put the statements off as long as possible, and now that he's been helping Georgie look into Peter Lukas they've become even less of a priority. But surely now that Jon's back, actually in the office on a regular basis, he won't be expected --

He decides to start with the cross-referencing. There are a couple of statements he's found with an unsettling skin motif, and he wants to check them against something he remembers having seen in Document Storage. He's pretty sure he knows which box, even if he can't remember exactly what he's looking for. Not, he reflects wryly, flipping on the light in the stuffy room, that it would make much difference if he did. Three years in and they still haven't managed to impose any sort of real classification system on the Archives.

The lump on the cot shifts and groans softly, and Martin freezes. Well, that explains why he was the first one in this morning. "Jon?" he asks quietly.

Jon grumbles, reassuringly familiar from the times he's wound up sleeping in the Archives in the past. "What time is it?"

"Um. Nearly eight? Sorry, I didn't know you were - I thought you went --" _I thought you went out with Peter Lukas last night,_ Martin thinks bitterly. _Guess he didn't have a good time then_.

"Christ," Jon mutters. "You wouldn't happen to have anything for a headache, would you?"

"Um," Martin says again. Does Jon have a _hangover_? From going out with _Peter Lukas_? "Yeah, I think - let me just - " He scurries out to find the first aid kit he has stashed at his desk ever since Prentiss.

Jon swallows the pills with half the bottle of water Martin brings him and a gravelly "Thank you, Martin," but he offers no explanations. He doesn't look hung over, not really. His eyes aren't red and he doesn't smell of alcohol. Maybe it's an Archivist thing, Martin thinks, a little guilty about how hopeful it feels.

By the time Melanie and Basira arrive with matching coffee cups and deep in conversation about something that's either a statement or a television programme that Martin has never heard of, Jon is back to his usual buttoned-up work self, ensconced in his office with a tape recorder and a stack of files. Martin doesn't quite dare suggest that maybe recording statements isn't the best idea in his current condition. He doesn't think Jon would appreciate it.

After disposing of the latest gift (a charcuterie basket that must have cost several hundred pounds; Jon's been complaining about all the sugar lately and Martin is annoyed at the thoughtfulness of it) he settles down to work. It's the only thing he can do, really, to keep his mind occupied and stop himself from worrying himself into a headache. And it is, technically, what he's here for.

It isn't strictly necessary to listen to the recorded statements in order to do the cross-referencing. Probably it would be easier to work from the written documents. But he loves the sound of Jon's voice, deep and rich and steady no matter what horrors he's reading out, and since Tim has stopped doing any work at all Martin can justify it as checking for errors in the recordings as well.

He gets into a comfortable rhythm, piling post-it notes on the files while the tape spools out. He's scribbling a particularly long annotation on a statement about some kind of horrible thing that lives in the dark under the bed (which would be painfully cliché, Martin thinks, if it weren't so believably horrible), letting the tape run after the closing comments, when the tape crackles with a tired sigh. His pen stops.

"It's past ten," Jon says on the tape. "I don't know why I'm still here. I'm exhausted. I - There's so much work to do, so much I don't know about this - this Unknowing Elias is talking about. And instead I'm spending evenings going - going _out_ with Peter Lukas." There's a long pause. Martin pictures Jon with his forehead resting in a hand, the way he gets when he's too tired to keep going but he won't stop anyway. He really ought to turn the tape off, he thinks. This isn't - this wasn't meant to be heard by anyone else.

"Melanie's right, this is a lot, even for Elias and his outrageous levels of manipulation. And - and Martin's right, too, I ought to be able to say no. But." Another sigh. "Honestly, does it even matter? It's not as if I was planning on marrying under my own impetus. And if Peter Lukas is an avatar of a power whose domain is loneliness, then at least I can look forward to being left alone once this whole _engagement_ phase is over. Really," he says in that tone of indignant offense that reminds Martin of their early days in the Archives, "you'd think that with an arranged marriage you would be able to avoid all the tedious courtship business. But no, I'm just not that lucky." Martin's smiling in spite of himself, head ducked down to hide the stupid, affectionate grin on his face even though there's no one else here.

"Maybe if my luck holds this Unknowing will happen before the wedding and then I won't have to worry about any of it any more," Jon says bitterly, and Martin's smile fades. "Recording ends." There's the heavy click of the recorder being stopped and then the soft hum of empty tape.

Martin lets it run all the way to the end, thinking. His pen has left a heavy blob of ink on the post-it he was writing, and he tosses it away and re-writes the note, but he's thinking about Jon's recording. Jon, who doesn't have anyone to talk to but the tape recorders. Jon who thinks that if he doesn't care about marrying anyone else then he shouldn't mind being forced to marry a literal monster. Jon who sounds - a little optimistic about the possible end of the world? The heavy weight in Martin's chest that always appears whenever Jon's engagement comes up has grown a little heavier. He really hopes Georgie is making progress on her research, because he hasn't been able to find much of anything at all.

The door clicks open and Martin jumps, even though it's not like he was doing anything out of line. It's Jon, looking more than a little nervous -- well, to Martin or anyone else who knew him. He hides it under a rigid posture and a scowl much harsher than the situation calls for. "I have a favor to ask," he says stiffly.

"Of course." As if there was any question, honestly.

"It's not -" Jon twists the ring on his hand. He's always fidgeted with his hands when he doesn't know how to say something, it really shouldn't be that big of a deal that he has something to concentrate it on now. "It isn't strictly work-related," he says, less stiff and a little apologetic. "You can say no."

Martin bites the inside of his lip to cover a smile. "I guess - if you told me what it was?" _Please god nothing to do with the wedding_, he thinks.

"I - right." Jon squares his shoulders again. "I'd like to go back down into the tunnels. Leitner was living there for years, he may have left something, some more books, or papers or something. I'm tired of waiting around here for Elias to decide what I'm allowed to know," he says bitterly.

_The wedding might be better?_ Martin thinks. He knows Jon had been exploring in the tunnels before, of course he does, but he'd never wanted to go back there again. Worms and corpses and passages that seemed to move when he wasn't looking had been more than enough. "I," he squeaks, and then swallows, determined not to embarrass himself any more than necessary. "Are you sure you want me to go? I mean, I wasn't very much help last time..." He resists the urge to apologize, again, for leaving Jon and Tim to the worms. He'd been so sure -- but Jon had been impatient with his apologies before, and he isn't going to annoy him now.

Jon gives him an odd sort of half-smile. "Yes, well. You did manage to find your way out unassisted, which is better than I was able to do more than once. And at least I'm confident you wouldn't leave me down there alone on purpose."

That's...fair, unfortunately. Tim might be a little more chipper these days, but it was only in relation to harassing Jon about wedding plans. Basira had until very recently believed Jon to be a murderer, and Melanie - well, who knew what Melanie would do these days. "I guess," Martin says, and even though he's pretty sure he's only Jon's choice of companion by process of elimination there's a warm glow at having been asked. Jon raises his eyebrows impatiently. "What - now?"

"Unless you have something more important today," Jon says, as though he's not the one who issues deadlines. "And." He clears his throat. "I rather suspect Peter Lukas is going to stop by this afternoon, and I'd rather not be available when he does."

"Oh! Yeah, that makes sense." He's not going to be offended at being used to avoid Peter Lukas, he's not. Honestly, it's a relief that Jon is trying to avoid him, especially after - well, whatever had happened that left him hung over in Document Storage this morning. Which Martin is not going to think about any more. "Let me grab - um." He looks around for something to get, but he's honestly not sure what he might need.

"I have some torches in my office," Jon says, "and a fire extinguisher, although I think we're well past the need for that."

* * *

The tunnels aren't as bad as Martin had remembered, or maybe it's just that he's not being chased by demonic worms this time. They're cold, and rather dark, and the first stretch down from the trapdoor feels like they're descending all the way into the bowels of the earth. The horrible feeling of depth goes away after a while, though, and then they're just walking along together, keeping a mutual eye out for doors or passageways. It's - it's not _nice_. Nice would be walking with Jon somewhere where there's sunlight and fresh air, and for a reason that isn't "hunting for evil books that might turn you into something horrible if you read them." But it isn't terrible.

Apparently Jon had left plenty of chalk markings on the walls when he'd been exploring down here before, although the ones they find don't seem to make sense. "Leitner said he was rearranging the tunnels to keep me away from his hiding place," Jon says bitterly when Martin tentatively points that out. "Apparently he wasn't paying attention to what that did to my markers."

Martin thinks of the scene in _Labyrinth_ where the paving stones turn Sarah's lipstick arrows backwards and wonders if that was what Jon was thinking of when he made his chalk arrows. He can't picture Jon watching a film, honestly. Instead he asks, "Moving the tunnels?"

Jon gestures helplessly. "He had a book." He tilts his head and considers for a moment. "Which Elias has now, I suppose. He had it on him when he - well."

Right. They're wandering around the abandoned tunnels under the Institute looking for the hiding place of a murdered man who'd been living in those tunnels for the entire time Martin had worked there. All of a sudden their errand begins to seem threatening again.

"Look," Martin says, more to hear his voice than because he thinks Jon particularly wants his input, "if he was moving things around so you wouldn't find him, doesn't that mean we should stay away from your old markers, since they must be where he thought it was safe for you to go?" He knows he's only encouraging them to get lost somewhere even more horrible, but it's out of his mouth now.

"That's...a fair point, actually." Jon gives him a considering look. "All right. I think if we take the right turn back down that last hallway that will take us in a direction I've never been."

The one that looked twice as dark as anywhere they'd already been, of course. Martin stifles a sigh, but when Jon strides off purposefully toward the tunnel in question, he follows.

It is darker than the other tunnels, and their torches seem to do less good. Martin would swear there are dark corners the light just won't penetrate. There are no markers here and they don't make more, but Jon scratches lines on a rough map he'd brought with him, remnants of his earlier explorations. They walk for what seems like hours, but in the end, they find nothing more than a small stash of candy bars and bottled water in an otherwise-empty room.

"Well, he was certainly down here," Jon says tiredly. "But there must have been somewhere he slept, or - oh, who knows if it's even accessible, he might have used the book to open a door into a room we can't even see." He runs a hand absently through his hair, which does nothing to dislodge the dust that's been collecting in it, and Martin's stomach twists pleasantly. _Not the time_, he tells it.

"We could come back later, with more torches?" Martin suggests, not that he particularly wants to return, but apparently he can't just sit there and watch Jon get discouraged.

"I suppose." He gives Martin that look again, the one he'd had earlier when Martin had suggested a change in strategy. "Thank you for coming along," he says, and for once it sounds plainly sincere instead of stilted and awkward. "It was a great help, truly."

Martin is grateful for the darkness; maybe it'll hide his full-body blush. "Yeah, anytime," he says stupidly, but Jon just nods and turns to lead them back out to the Archives.

They're able to find their way back with very little trouble, thanks to Jon's map and Martin's sense of direction, which actually is pretty good. And it doesn't seem like it takes as long coming out as it did going in - _like it wants us to leave,_ Martin thinks, even though he knows perfectly well he's felt the same thing just taking the tube to a stop he's never been to before.

"I am sorry it didn't amount to anything," Jon says to him as they're climbing up the stone staircase and back through the trapdoor. "I wouldn't have - Jesus!" he yells, and recoils so hard he knocks into Martin, who has to brace himself on the step below so they don't both go tumbling down to the tunnel below and break their necks.

"What is it?" Martin almost shouts in response, steadying Jon with both hands on his back until he stabilizes.

Jon gestures toward the opening. "There's a --"

Silhouetted on the very edge, right next to where Jon had probably put his hand to pull himself up, was a spider, about two inches from one foot to the other, its front legs twitching slightly.

"Oh," Martin coos, stepping up around Jon to look at it more closely. "Poor thing, did he scare you?" He holds out a hand and the spider steps delicately onto his palm.

"Did _I_ scare _it_?" Jon asks indignantly, but Martin ignores him, climbing up to sit on the ledge of the trapdoor so he can stand up using only one hand. Jon's always been irrational about spiders. This one seems perfectly happy to stay where it is, so Martin doesn't bother to fetch a glass or anything, just carries it out the fire escape door and sets it down in the alleyway. It tickles a little as it runs briefly up his wrist before skittering down his fingers and between two bricks.

"I wouldn't come back in here, if I were you," Martin says after it. "Jon will absolutely squash you if I'm not around." He dusts his hands off and heads back inside.

The trapdoor is shut again when he returns to Jon's office, and Jon is shaking the dust off his jacket and out of his hair. He glares a little at Martin but there's no heat in it. "You know they're not really harmless, not if they're in here," Jon says accusingly. "They _eat_ people. Think of Carlos Vittery."

"You said the cobwebs all over Carlos Vittery's corpse were probably a coincidence," Martin replies before he can stop himself. He's never - it's the kind of thing he might have said to Tim, but never to Jon.

Jon just snorts. "That was - well. I told you I didn't really believe everything I said on the tapes before..." He sighs. "Look, it's later than I thought it would be, can I buy you dinner?" Jon's eyes go wide as he hears himself, and Martin begins to blush, no cover of darkness to hide it this time. "I - that is - as thanks. For staying late and helping me -- " he gestures at the trapdoor.

"Sure!" Martin says, a little high-pitched. Stop it, he tells the squeezing in his chest. _Stop it, that's not what he meant_. "Yeah, if - if you don't mind."

"I wouldn't have offered if I did," Jon says, a little offended. Then he grimaces and says, "I'm sure you'll be better dinner company than Peter Lukas, at least."

_Right, comparing you to his fiancé taking him to dinner, that's not what he meant at all_, Martin's traitorous heart insists. "I'll do my best!" Martin says, cursing the inanity of his reflexes, but at least it sounds almost natural, and Jon smiles like he's glad to hear it, and Martin stops trying not to feel joy.


	6. He'd Kiss Me Then He'd Go

Elias doesn't know why he bothers trying to get any work done, honestly. It's almost as if people think he's merely a figurehead, someone to look good at formal dinners and chat up potential donors, someone who can be interrupted at any moment with no meaningful consequences, instead of a very busy man with a complex organization to run and an Archivist who continues to insist on disappearing into places where he can't be watched. He would say all this out loud, but Peter hasn't let him get a word in edgewise.

The man is currently draped over the expensive leather sofa in the corner of Elias's office, and he's halfway through his second glass of a very nice brandy. Peter probably thinks it's annoying Elias for him to drink it or he wouldn't have bothered, but in actual fact it's a bottle that Peter had given him for a wedding gift years ago and which he's kept around for just such an occasion. Of course he hadn't expected that Peter would be sat in his office whining about _Jon_ of all people breaking his heart, but he really should have learned long ago that he is utterly incapable of predicting Peter's actions.

"Anyway you could have told me that you've managed to pick up an Archivist who actually seems incapable of being made to be lonely," Peter is saying from his awkward position half-upside-down, his head leaned all the way back over the arm of the sofa to look at Elias. "I really think that left to his own devices he'd never leave that Archive of his. If he were only human he'd be intolerably boring."

"He's very dedicated to his work," Elias says primly. It's one of the things that had first drawn Jon to his attention, actually. And then he adds, with just a touch of venom, "Perhaps he just doesn't like you." He considers telling Peter about the scene playing out in the Archives just now, Jon nearly killing himself over a spider that is almost certainly entirely mundane, Martin coming to his rescue - well, in a manner of speaking. Peter's spent the past half hour complaining about a lack of gratitude for the rescue he'd effected last night, a run-in with the Stranger's errand boys that Elias, at least, is truly grateful was cut off where it was. Not that Elias is planning to admit that.

Peter laughs and sits up, straightening out his neck with a wince. "Probably getting too old for that," he admits. "Honestly I'm beginning to wonder if it's worth going through with all this, I doubt I'll get anything worthwhile out of the bargain." He downs the last of the second glass of brandy and stands to pour another.

"If you'd tell me what you're trying to accomplish I could offer some suggestions," Elias says, determinedly steady. He doesn't want to hope that Peter will give up on this charade; there's too much chance that it really is one of Nathaniel's convoluted plans. Still, Peter's attitude makes him a little more optimistic.

Peter just grins back infuriatingly, but he's poured Elias a brandy as well this time, so he decides to forgive him for now. "I'm sure we'll work it out," he says, handing over the snifter and throwing himself into the chair opposite Elias's desk. "After all, I haven't been _thoroughly_ rejected yet, there's still a chance for a massive disappointment on both sides." He winks.

Elias hides his smirk behind his brandy. "I think Jon's fairly disappointed in you already," he says lightly, "if that's all you're looking for. If you want him to miss you, though, you're going to have to actually leave him alone."

"Before he wants me around at all?" Peter catches Elias's eye and smiles, a lazy grin with a sharp edge to it. "Which one of us are you more jealous of, I wonder?"

_There's no dignified way out of this one_, Elias thinks, but sniping back at Peter is too much of an ingrained instinct. "Do you really think I'd take you back after that divorce?" Peter's eyes sparkle and Elias curses himself. The brandy burns his throat as he takes a too-large swallow to shut himself up, too late.

"Hmm," he says by way of response. "You've always been one for hopeless cases, I suppose. And it is very hopeless. You can't _respect_ that one into bed with you, you know."

Elias knows that all too well, thank you, and it's none of Peter's business any more what kind of hopeless cases Elias is wallowing in. "And you can't seduce him," he says. Knowing that it's true helps a little with suppressing the desire to slap the smug look off Peter's face. "Let me make it very clear," he adds, setting his glass down on the desk with a sharp click. "If I find out you've put one hand on him I'm calling this off myself and going to Maxwell Rayner for funding."

Peter raises an eyebrow, but at least the smug look is gone. "Very well," he says smoothly. Elias bites back the urge to tell Peter what he already knows, that he will be watching. "Still, it's a shame. If you did miss me I might be willing to propose to you instead. Oh, well." He heaves himself to his feet and smirks down at Elias, too steady on his feet for a man who's just swallowed half a bottle of very expensive brandy. "If you're going to be like that, I'll leave you to - whatever it is you do."

"Unless you'd like some job training," Elias suggests dryly. He feels that the conversation has taken a turn somewhere that he missed. He'd very much like to down the rest of his own brandy, but he intends to wait until Peter actually leaves.

Peter's faded halfway out of visibility by the time he reaches the door. "Pick it up on the job," he says dismissively, and the door falls shut with a click, pulled to by its own momentum. Elias gives in with a sigh and empties his glass.

* * *

There really is no end to the work Jon has to do. On top of attempting to save the world - which, he thinks bitterly, everyone but him seems to have forgotten about lately; even Martin has taken to disappearing in the middle of the afternoon - now Elias wants performance reviews. The Archives still had to adhere to the regular management schedule, he'd said when Jon had objected, but looking at the forms now he can see how futile it is. He'd considered writing something really scathing for Tim, all entirely accurate, but he knows it wouldn't prove anything. "Probably just convince Elias to use him as a sacrificial pawn," he mutters to himself. Which - which really isn't a joking matter, on reflection. Well, let Elias come after him for missing the deadline. He shoves his laptop aside and goes to make a cup of tea.

Out in the assistants' office, Basira is the only one there, and Jon nearly turns around and goes back into his office before scolding himself for his cowardice. Just because his carelessness had turned Basira into Elias's hostage, there's no reason for him to hide from her. He should probably ask how she's doing. God, he hopes Elias doesn't want a performance review for her, too.

She greets him warmly enough, though, and at his tentative question launches into an explanation of the books she's been reading. She's been going through Tim's desk, by the sound of it: Robert Smirke and architecture and London history. Well, it isn't as though Tim is making any use of them. Jon feels a pang of guilt that he hasn't given her anything to _do_, although to be fair, it's hardly as if she's a regular employee.

"And how are you doing with the..." he trails off, uncertain how to phrase it.

"Hostage situation?" Basira asks matter-of-factly. She hums. "Well. Let's put it this way: how are you doing with the forced engagement situation?"

Jon sputters, aware he's being ridiculous, there isn't anything embarrassing about it, honestly. He takes a sip of tea to steady himself and says, "It's not the worst thing that's happened to me since I started working here."

"Yeah, well," Basira says, and she looks like she's trying not to smile. "Same." Then she gives him a long, considering look. "You know that's kind of really terrible, right? That your boss told you you were going to marry some guy he knows and you just went along with it? You're allowed to have boundaries."

"I have boundaries," Jon protests, defensive. He's almost certain he does, actually. He's usually very good at keeping people out of his personal life.

"Mm-hmm."

"Want one?" Out of nowhere, Tim's holding out a box of cupcakes, eleven of them with one empty space. "Martin's disappeared again, so either you take one or I'll have to eat them all myself." They're frosted pink and delicate, and the one in the middle has a marzipan diamond ring perched on top. Jon rolls his eyes.

Basira looks back and forth between Jon and the box, but she just raises an eyebrow and shakes her head. "Too much sugar for me," she says.

Tim shrugs. "Suit yourself." He gives Jon a sideways look, and Jon just says, "No." Tim carries the entire box back to his desk, where he settles down with his feet up and the mouse on his lap. He bites straight through an inch of pink frosting and licks his lips.

"Good thing the Archives aren't open to the public, huh," Basira says mildly.

"You have no idea," Jon mutters. 

* * *

"Took you long enough," Georgie says when Jon shows up on her doorstep unannounced. It's turning into a bad habit, but then, she has yet to turn him away. Instead she does what she did the last time: wraps him in a hug and sits him down on the couch with a cup of tea. Since he's not shaking and covered in someone else's blood this time it feels a little more condescending, but Jon has to admit, if only to himself, that he's missed Georgie's practical, uncomplicated affection.

She doesn't ask what brought him here, but that's probably because she knows him well enough to know that he'll feel obliged to explain himself, and sure enough after a few minutes he finds himself rambling about the endless stream of romantic gifts, the dates, the tedious and unnecessary courtship. (He skips the part about Breekon and Hope. It didn't come to anything, after all, and there was no reason to worry Georgie unnecessarily.) "And it's been a week since I've seen him last," he finishes up with a sigh, twisting the tea mug in his hands, "which means he's going to turn up any day now with another dinner reservation or something, and Martin wasn't around, so I thought - well, I needed to get out of there for a while."

"So glad to know you only think of me when you need to hide from your evil fiancé," Georgie says.

Jon's face heats. "I didn't - that's not -"

Georgie just laughs at him. "I'm kidding, it's fine. You know you're always welcome here, whether you're hiding from murder charges or marriage plans."

"God, what happened to my life," Jon mutters. Georgie pats him reassuringly on the knee.

"So what exactly is this guy's thing?" she asks. "Martin was kind of vague. He's a ship captain? But he's part of this Institute, too?"

"No, he." He considers. "The Lukas family fund the Institute, but they're not part of it, I don't think. Elias said their patron is called Forsaken. It's about - loneliness, isolation, that kind of thing."

Georgie raises an eyebrow. "And you're having to run away from work to avoid him? I don't think he's very good at his job." Jon laughs in spite of himself and she grins at him. "God," she says, like the thought has just occurred to her, "d'you think he's trying to make you fall in love with him so you'll miss him when he's gone? He's _really_ bad at his job, you don't even miss people you _like_."

"That's not true," Jon says defensively, but it is, a little. And then something she'd said earlier catches up with him. "Wait a minute. Martin was vague about what?" She doesn't meet his eye, but she looks very pleased with herself. "Are _you_ the person he's been sneaking around to see these past few weeks?"

"Don't know what you mean," Georgie says cheerfully, utterly transparent. At Jon's indignant noise, she says, "Funny how often he comes up, really. And apparently he's your first choice for rescue from unwanted romance, I ought to be jealous."

"That's." Jon is getting tired of finding himself speechless, but he doesn't have a defense. "I mean he's - one of my _assistants_, it's -"

"He's very nice," Georgie offers, and just shrugs at Jon's pointed glare. "And he cares about you a lot, you know."

Jon closes his eyes. He does know, in fact. It isn't something he's ever let himself think about, and he can't think about this now, can't consider the roiling churn of emotions that Martin's steadfast concern stirs in him. He doesn't remember when that happened, when Martin went from being an annoyance to a reliable ally to someone whose attention fills him with warmth and confusion and a terrible burning tension. "I don't see how that's relevant," he says after too long a pause. He tries to ignore the way his voice threatens to break, and he opens his eyes to find Georgie looking at him with an expression of fond exasperation. "And don't think I'm going to ignore the way you two are apparently conspiring behind my back."

"Someone has to," she says simply. "I'll let you get away with a lot of self-destructive behavior, Jon, you're an adult and you can make your own decisions, even if they're bad ones, but this is - well, I'm not going to just watch you get eaten by a stupid romance novel plot. Monsters are one thing, but honestly."

"I don't -" Jon runs his hands through his hair, frustrated. "You shouldn't be involved. He _is_ a monster, no matter how friendly he's pretending to be for now. The Lukases need me for something, God knows what, but if anything happened to you -"

"It won't," Georgie says firmly. "I know you think I'll get myself in trouble because I'm not scared of him, but I'm careful. More careful than you are, anyway." Jon grimaces in reluctant agreement and she shifts closer to him, leaning against his side. Her touch is a familiar relief and he slumps against her, leaning his head on Georgie's shoulder without thinking. "I just want you to be safe," she adds softly into his hair. "We both do." She nuzzles his hair, drops a kiss in it. "You've got people who love you, Jon. Just - don't forget that, all right?"

"Too many of them, I think," Jon grumbles, and she laughs, nudging him vertical again. "I mean - I'd settle for never having to go on another date again, honestly."

"You're telling me you don't appreciate being charmed and flirted with and showered with romance? I'm shocked, really I am."

"Yes, who would have guessed." The tension has all gone out of his shoulders for once, and he sighs, collapsing back against the sofa. "Thank you," he says seriously. "I - I probably shouldn't, but I appreciate it."

Georgie gives him a fond look as she stands, gathering the empty tea mugs. "Of course," she says, like it's nothing at all, and Jon is overwhelmed with affection for her all over again. He closes his eyes, just for a moment._ I'm not cut out for all of this_, he thinks fuzzily, not sure if he means the tangled web of fear and monsters or the sheer amount of affection, false and genuine, that's been thrown at him lately.

She's still in the kitchen when there's a knock on the door. "Were you expecting someone?" Jon asks, but there's a faint chill in the air and he knows full well who is there before she even turns the deadbolt.

"Miss Barker, I presume." Peter grins at her, and if Jon didn't know better he would look rakish and rather charming. He does, though, and he's up off the sofa and behind Georgie's shoulder in an instant, never taking his eyes off Peter. He'd have put himself between them except Georgie still has one hand braced on the door and the other on the frame, blocking his way even though Peter is twice her size. "Ah, Jonathan," Peter says genially, as though he hadn't followed Jon to his friend's flat when Jon was specifically trying to stay away from him.

"Peter," Jon answers, his voice remarkably even. There's a cold anger building low in his chest that nothing about this situation has managed to stoke so far. It's one thing for Peter to be stalking him, he's at least nominally agreed to this, but to follow him to Georgie's is a step too far. And where would he have gotten the address? - from Elias, of course, who had done the same thing. He'll have to make it clear to Elias that Georgie should be left out of this; apparently he'd failed to do so before.

Peter is, of course, unfazed by the chilly reception, but he doesn't take his eyes off Georgie. Jon shivers, and realizes it's not wholly psychological: there's a damp chill in the air that seeps into his bones and makes him ache for something he can't identify. "May I come in?" Peter asks once they've all been standing there long enough for it to become uncomfortable.

Georgie, naturally, doesn't blink. "You may not," she says, and the pure unconcerned defiance in her voice kills the longing ache in Jon's heart. "And you could stop with the spooky bullshit while you're at it, it's not impressive."

Behind the two of them there's a low, whining growl. Jon glances over his shoulder; the Admiral is puffed up to twice his already considerable size and looks like he's ready to go for Peter's throat. Jon considers which one of them he'd be more worried about if he does, and decides it's probably not worth trying to intervene.

"Also," Georgie says, "the Admiral doesn't like you, and he outranks you. So you're just going to have to leave."

Peter raises an eyebrow at this, but he doesn't object. "I had only hoped to take my fiancé to dinner," he says, and Jon can feel the scowl on his own face at the word. Peter looks between him and Georgie thoughtfully. "But if I'm interrupting -"

"Fine," Jon says, and he knows it comes out petty and resentful but he'll be damned if he's going to let Peter Lukas decide that Georgie is a threat to him in any way. "I'll just - let me get my coat."

Georgie shuts the door firmly in Peter's face and grabs Jon by the arm. "You don't have to, you know," she says, her eyes fixed on his. "You can just --"

"I know, and it's fine," Jon tells her, trying to sound convincing. "I'll be fine, he's not - dangerous or anything --"

"You literally just got done telling me how dangerous he was?" Georgie objects, but she lets go of him with a sigh. "Try not to do anything too stupid, will you?" She's looking at him with - it's not worry, he now knows, but concern, maybe. Or disappointment.

"I won't," he promises, and kisses her awkwardly on the cheek. She makes a face at him that says she knows she's being distracted but she's willing to let it slide for now. It's...something he's familiar with, from the latter days of their romantic relationship.

In the hallway, Jon fixes Peter with a stern glare. He's not sure he ought to feel so comfortable glaring at monsters who definitely have a body count, but that's beside the point. "This is conditional," he says. "On the understanding that you will not come here or otherwise interfere with Georgie ever again. She's - not involved in any of this." It's almost true.

"Of course." Peter looks a little offended at the implication, which Jon doesn't trust for a moment, but he offers his arm. Jon huffs in annoyance and doesn't take it, instead preceding him down the stairs and finding himself waiting impatiently on the sidewalk.

"What is it this time, then?" Jon asks when Peter offers his arm again. "Dinner at the Ritz?" It's just the sort of ostentatious display Peter would enjoy, and it sounds miserable, and so therefore the most likely option.

Peter cocks his head and smiles at him, enigmatic. "Actually I thought I'd offer you the choice this time. Since," he says with a wink, "you're leaving all the planning to me."

Jon glares in return, but he finds that he's thinking. There was a place he'd grown rather fond of not far away, and the thought of dinner reminded him that he was hungry after all. And it is growing increasingly clear that no amount of rudeness or disinterest is going to get Peter to leave him alone, so he might as well make the best of the opportunity to put up with him in a setting that isn't a complete nightmare.

"Fine," Jon says shortly, and heads off down the street. He would have loved to leave Peter trailing behind him, but the man has several inches on him and matches Jon's pace with ease.

He's aware, however hard he tries not to be, that the greater part of his irritation is not on account of Peter Lukas (whose presence he's almost become accustomed to) but is a defensive reaction to Georgie's insistent helpfulness, and it feels terribly wrong to prefer Peter's silence to Georgie's comfort. He ought to be grateful for her help, her support, and for Martin's, but - his stomach twists again at the thought of Martin, and he puts them both firmly out of his mind.

Jon leads them to an unassuming East African restaurant on a side street where the staff greets him warmly and by name. Their waiter asks Jon where he's been and who his friend is, thankfully without any innuendo Jon can identify; he manages something about changes at work which makes Peter chuckle but fortunately ends the stream of questions. When their table is filled with peanut stew, dorowot, and injera, Peter gives Jon a speculative look and says, "Either you've been hiding a much more diverse linguistics background than you've led me to believe or Elias is right."

"Right about what?" The thought that Elias talks about him to other people is shocking somehow; less a violation and more simply surprise that Elias sees it as worth his time.

Peter answers promptly, "You're much better than Gertrude," and it isn't until he blinks in surprise at his own response that Jon realizes how much of the compulsion had made its way into that question. _Well_, he thinks, _useful to know it works on someone_. But Peter has wiped his face into its usual bland geniality and continues, "Did you know you weren't speaking English to them?"

"I was -" Jon thinks back, because of course he was, what else would it be, but the precise words don't register in his memory, only the sense of them and the feeling of an unfamiliar sound on his tongue. "That's - I don't even know what language they speak!" he objects, glancing around to be certain none of the staff are within earshot.

"Maybe not," Peter says with a smug smile, "but you Know what they mean. No wonder they like you here. It certainly can't be your manners, clearly Elias hasn't taught you any." The look he gives Jon carries just a hint of a threat in it, and he's reminded suddenly that he just spent the afternoon trying to convince Georgie that Peter is dangerous while forgetting all about it himself. He bites his tongue against the impulse to try the compulsion on him again anyway. Then Peter brightens a bit. "I could try, if you'd like."

Before he can stop himself Jon snaps back, "And what would that entail? No, please don't answer that." Peter smiles back at him lecherously and, seeing the waiter looking toward them again, gives him a wink. Jon writes off this restaurant for the foreseeable future; if his instinctual Universal Translator wasn't enough to make him too nervous to speak to anyone again, the prospect of having to answer questions about Peter Lukas is more than sufficient. "Would it be possible for you to go ten minutes without being inappropriate in public?"

Peter answers with a vague shrug. "I thought I was doing quite well, really. But if you like we can talk about something else. How about work? How's the archiving going?"

"I'm not entirely certain I should tell you." Jon considers Peter, who is as unreadable as ever. "What do you know about a ritual called the Unknowing?"

"Ah, no, I've been warned off there," Peter says with a rueful shake of his head. "Elias's orders. Though you must have more about I-Do-Not-Know-You than any of the rest of us at this point."

"Of course," Jon mutters, "Elias couldn't overlook a single possible source of information." He stabs a potato rather more viciously than necessary.

"That is what he does." Peter smiles fondly. "Most annoying man I've ever met."

Jon gives him a sharp look. Well, if he won't answer practical questions - "All right then. Were you two really married, or was that some terrible attempt at a joke?"

Peter laughs, but what he says is, "We've been allies for a very long time, the Head of your Institute and I. I can't let him think he's getting the better of me, now can I?"

"I really don't see how he could think that, under the circumstances," Jon grumbles. He hasn't missed that the Head of the Institute isn't necessarily the same as Elias Bouchard, but he's tired of having his questions laughed off and he has no illusions about this being the question for which he gets an actual answer. "Fine. What about your work, then? Surely we shouldn't spend all our - all the time talking about me."

"Fair enough," Peter says, and without another attempt at a distraction he launches into a story about a voyage the _Tundra_ made...sometime in the past fifty years, the timeline is very vague. It's heavily peppered with nautical terminology which Jon suspects isn't used entirely accurately, but he suppresses the urge to complain about it. He doesn't give much away about himself, but Peter is apparently very happy to talk about his ship. It carries them through the rest of dinner and, to Jon's relief, doesn't require much of his attention.

When they leave the restaurant, Jon manages to avoid Peter ushering him out with a solicitous hand on his back, and it even looks as if he might be able to make it home with a minimum of fuss for once. He cranes his neck to look for suspicious vans but there's no one else around. Peter watches him with a tolerant smile, standing just a little too close. "You know," he says dragging Jon's attention reluctantly back, "this is the third time we've been out now and I haven't had a thing for my troubles. I believe it is customary to get a kiss on the third date."

Jon flushes and hates himself for it. He doesn't _want_ to kiss Peter Lukas so he has nothing to be embarrassed about. "Transactional romance is archaic and revolting," he says to cover his sudden awkwardness. "And I- well, that is-" This he's never been good at explaining, although it has to happen sooner or later and it might as well be now.

"Just a kiss, Jonathan," Peter says, moving closer still, and something in Jon is curious enough that he doesn't move away when Peter cups a hand around his jaw and bends down.

It's - intense. Peter's presence is usually forgettable, almost insignificant, but this close he smells of salt water and cold winds. His hand is large and warm against Jon's face but his lips are cold, and when he draws in a breath of shock at the contrast Peter licks hot against his lower lip and Jon is frozen in indecision.

Then Peter lets go and steps away, all at once, leaving Jon feeling abandoned and resentful. He can understand now, perhaps, what it is the Lonely might get out of this arrangement. It's not an experience he'd care to repeat, he decides, but the curiosity in the back of his mind curls up warm and sated.

Jon meets Peter's eyes, and he looks curiously back, hands in his pockets and the hint of a smile playing at his lips. "It's not going to work," Jon says, almost apologetic. "I'm not going to pine away for lack of love or - or affection or anything like that."

"Yes, I was beginning to suspect." Peter sighs. "Ah, well. Can't have everything, I suppose." He smirks. "I would offer to see you home but you don't seem to like it when I do that."

"I do not," Jon says firmly. "I - thank you." He's not sure what for, but Peter just nods to him solemnly and walks off whistling.


	7. All For the Love of Thee

Martin is fine. He's completely fine, he's not stressed at all, it doesn't bother him in the slightest that Peter Lukas has barged into the Archives in the middle of the afternoon and is doing his best to flirt with Jon. (He didn't exactly see what was going on with that box of chocolates, but he's got an idea and he doesn't like it.) He's focused on the plan, he and Georgie have a plan, and also on the actual work that he's doing, because some people around here have things they need to do. The world to save. And if he needs to talk to Jon in order to clarify some details around a particular statement, well, that only makes sense, doesn't it?

"My darling Archivist," Peter is saying when Martin approaches them from across the room, and Jon doesn't react to that at all which is probably a terrible sign because it's the second time he's said it today, not that Martin has been counting, "you can't possibly spend all your time here, it's unhealthy. A proper work-life balance is vital for long-term happiness. Or so I'm told."

"Shockingly, Peter," Jon says, and the dryness of his tone almost offsets the fact that he's calling him _Peter_, except for the fact that Jon is that dry with everyone, _stop overthinking it, Martin_, "some of us do actually have to work for a living. I grant that you may not understand the concept -"

"So you have been looking into the family," Peter murmurs, pleased, and Martin places himself firmly between the two of them. It's a little uncomfortable, as there's not nearly as much space there as he'd like, but he really doesn't have a choice.

Jon drags his gaze away from Peter and Martin is pretty sure he's not imagining that he looks a little relieved. "Yes, Martin?" It really is just as dry as the way he addressed Peter Lukas, which sends Martin's stomach plummeting, but he holds his ground.

"I just wanted you to take a look at some of these names," he says firmly. "Make sure we're not missing anything important before we clear this line of investigation."

"And that requires my input?" Jon mutters, but he glances over the pages Martin hands him before nodding and passing them back. "It seems thorough enough. And I - I know I've been dismissive in the past, but I do have every faith in your, ah. Due diligence."

In any other circumstances this would be the kind of praise that would make Martin's entire week, possibly year - in fact he's not sure he's ever heard such a glowing complement from Jon. Under these circumstances, though - "I was hoping we could chat in your office?"

"Not -" Jon says, at the same time Peter says cheerfully, "You really do have such thoroughly protective assistants, I don't suppose you'd care to make me a recommendation? I'm going to be in need of some staff soon." Somehow it sounds like a threat.

"No," Jon says firmly. "Thank you, Martin." Which is an undeniably thorough dismissal. Martin heads back to his desk, keeping an ear out for their conversation, but Peter's voice has gone low and distressingly intimate, and Jon doesn't seem to have anything to say in reply. _Well that didn't work_, he thinks to himself.

"What a creep," Melanie mutters as Martin passes by her desk, and she gives him a sympathetic look. Martin gives her an exaggerated eye roll in return, which makes her snort, and he feels a little better.

At the desk next to his, Tim is paging through a bridal catalog. It's all he seems to do these days, and Martin is pretty sure it's gone beyond an attempt to annoy Jon and is now just one more thing Tim does to pretend he doesn't actually work here any more. "You could try to help," Martin mutters in his general direction, not really expecting an answer.

But apparently Tim doesn't have his earbuds in today, because he says, "You're doing a fine job of being a nuisance, what do you expect me to do?" He doesn't look up.

"I don't - I don't know," Martin says, taken aback by the response. "Distract Peter Lukas so he leaves Jon alone? Go flirt with him or something."

Tim snorts loudly. "Right. Go flirt with one monster to stop him from flirting with another monster so you can feel better about the disaster that is all our lives?" He looks up briefly, meets Martin's eyes, and says clearly, "No." He goes back to paging through the catalog.

Just then there's the distinctive sound of the Archives door closing, and Martin looks up to see that Peter's gone at last, leaving the opened box of chocolates on the table. Jon is still stood outside his office, his arms folded, and he's giving Martin a considering look. Martin looks back at his computer, ears burning. He's _fairly_ certain Jon still doesn't know why he's been so, as Peter Lukas put it, protective, but at this rate he's going to be found out eventually. Even Jon can't be oblivious forever. He stays intently focused, pulling up a database to double-check an address he's already checked three times, until he hears Jon's office door close as well.

* * *

Elias is trying not to watch the Archives too closely. It's a constant irritation, because he always watches the Archives - even more so now that Jon is beginning to really come into his powers - but if he has to watch Peter continue this ostentatious display for much longer he's liable to do something unwise. He tries instead to focus on the latest board report, tweaking the language to be sure the few mundane members aren't unduly disturbed by his progress reports, which is probably why he doesn't notice that Peter is on his way until the door of his office swings open without even a knock.

"Hello, darling," Peter says, and despite his resolve Elias scowls at him. He's been listening to Peter throw that word around for weeks and he's tired of it. Peter, of course, takes no notice, sitting on the edge of Elias's desk and setting down a bottle with a heavy click. Elias eyes it with distaste.

"Am I your fallback option, then, for gifts your fiancé has rejected?"

Peter blinks at him in surprise. "What? Of course not - he hasn't got a palate at all, it'd be wasted on him. No, this was for you." He nudges the bottle, a rather fine twenty-year whiskey, across the desk. Elias relaxes a little, mollified, and then Peter says, "Surely you're not still dwelling on the other night?"

He's teasing, of course, trying to get a rise out of him. It is absolutely not true that Elias has spent the past two days distracted by the slightly dazed look on Jon's face after Peter kissed him in the street after another of Peter's failed attempts at romance. Elias had been so proud of Jon's resistance to Peter's charms that he'd been almost as unprepared as Jon for that particular development.

Elias thinks he'd be less annoyed if he could be sure which it was that was stealing his breath in unguarded moments, the thought of kissing that look into Jon's eyes himself or the memory of being kissed so thoroughly by Peter. He puts both firmly out of his mind and rises to place the bottle on a cabinet in the corner, out of temptation's way. Then he thinks better of it and pours himself a glass.

"Nothing for me?" Peter asks. Elias just raises an eyebrow at him, and he laughs, leaning back a little against the hand he has braced on the desk. The way he's sitting draws the fabric of his trousers tight against muscular thighs, and Elias deliberately looks away. "You know," Peter says, "if you really are that jealous, I'd be willing to make a trade. One Beholding avatar for another."

There's a note in his voice that sounds just a little too sincere, and Elias meets his gaze. Peter is infuriatingly difficult to read; it's possible to Know him but the struggle is rarely worth the effort - especially when he's been prodding so effectively at emotions Elias would rather not admit to. He pushes them down again. "You'd cut Jon loose?" Elias says carefully, as if this were just another negotiation. "Let him go back to doing his job instead of having to fend you off at every turn?"

"You make it sound like I'm some kind of threat," Peter says, a little hurt, but he's still smiling and his eyes are distant. Elias snorts. "In exchange for you having to fend me off at every turn, of course. You can't expect me to walk away from this with nothing."

Elias makes a noncommittal noise, takes another sip of his whiskey. It really is very good. "You've put me through all that and now you expect me to take you back, just like that?" There's tension in his voice, damn it, but Peter surely doesn't need that to know that Elias isn't pleased with him.

"All of what?" Peter gives him that innocent look that has never sat well on his face and never will. "This is all just business, of course. Powers and alliances. You're not at all jealous of either one of us."

"Your seduction technique is as terrible as ever," Elias tells him, dry to cover up the trembling feeling under his skin. "If I didn't know better I'd think you planned this from the beginning."

"You wound me," Peter says, getting up from the desk and putting himself right up in Elias's personal space. He plucks the glass from Elias's hand and tosses back the rest of the whiskey. He's not so much taller than Elias but this close he can smile down at him, a gesture that would, with anyone else, be intimidation. It's infuriatingly attractive. "I leave all the clever planning to you, of course."

"Of course," Elias says dryly. The stress and irritation and - yes, fine, jealousy of the past few weeks is humming through his veins, and Peter is standing there being insufferable (and he really had been enjoying that drink), and hell. He can have one thing he wants. Elias drags Peter down by the unbuttoned collar of his shirt and kisses the taste of his whiskey off his tongue. Peter makes a startled noise before leaning into it, and Elias's other hand goes to his hip to pull him close but Peter's already pressed up tight against him, crowding him into the drinks cabinet. It digs into his hip and the pain is a wonderful counterpart to Peter's hands on his waist as he devotes himself to stealing Elias's breath.

He feels a little disheveled when they finally break apart and has to resist the urge to tidy his hair; Peter would only take it as an invitation to mess it up again.

"Was that a yes?" Peter asks with a grin. The distant look in his eyes is gone, as is the chill that usually clings to him, Elias realizes with a lurch where his heart ought to be.

_Damn him_. "I suppose it was," he says, and leans in to brush a kiss across Peter's lips again to disguise whatever his face is giving away. He's barely made contact, though, when Peter tightens an arm around his waist, seizes his hand, and sweeps them into a waltz. "You really are a hopeless romantic," Elias accuses when he's sure he's got his feet. Peter hums in agreement and executes a turn. "If you dip me, I will step on your feet."

But he really is enjoying it, in spite of himself. Peter is an excellent dancer, and he'd forgotten how nice this was, a steady arm at his back and someone else to take the lead. He'd only allow it for something so trivial, of course, but still. The timing is terrible, he has a million things to pay attention to and a million more to organize, he can't afford to let himself be distracted. But then, he also can't afford to let Peter distract his Archivist, and this is as good a solution as any. It can solve at least one of his real problems. For a moment, then, Elias lets himself relax.

* * *

Martin really hadn’t been expecting an update from Georgie this soon - not that it’s _soon_, really, just that he’s grown so used to working hard and never getting anywhere that any progress seems miraculous - so when her text comes through in the middle of the afternoon that she wants to talk, giving the address of a pub not far from her flat, he blinks at it in surprise for a few minutes before filing it away as one more thing to accomplish. It’s important, of course it’s important, but everything is important these days and he’s given up trying to prioritize. Also, it’s been several days since there’s been any sign of Peter Lukas, which is enough of a relief that he’s been trying not to think too hard about it.

So it’s not that he’s late, exactly, just that he didn’t leave early enough to get there early the way he normally tries to. It’s a weeknight so the pub isn’t full, but he doesn’t see Georgie’s curly red hair anywhere, only a few couples, some hardcore regulars, and -

And Jon, sat in a booth in front of two untouched pints, fiddling with his phone. He’s facing away from the door, but Martin doesn’t need to see his face to recognize him.

This is - fine, obviously. Georgie clearly wanted to talk to both of them, it makes sense, they all know what’s going on, there’s no reason not to meet as a group. He does spare a moment for a pang of jealousy that Georgie can apparently convince Jonathan Sims to come out for a drink, but that’s hardly fair and besides, he’s finding it harder and harder to be resentful of Georgie. She’s lovely, and she genuinely cares about Jon, and also when Martin had tentatively asked about the possibility of the two of them getting back together she’d laughed for five minutes straight. He realizes with pleased surprise that he’s looking forward to seeing her again, which gives him the strength to take a deep breath and slide into the booth opposite Jon.

“Georgie summoned you too, then?” he asks apologetically, because he doesn’t want Jon to think he's trying to intrude or anything.

Jon looks up at him, surprised but not, Martin thinks, unhappy. In fact he looks a little flustered, which is probably, again, just the surprise. Clearly Georgie didn't tell him all about their meeting, either. "Oh, ah - yes, she. She has a way of doing that." He frowns at the drinks in front of him. "I'd assumed she'd be here by now, it isn't like her to be late."

Martin's about to ask if he thinks they ought to be worried when he's interrupted by the cheerful ping of his phone. At the same time, Jon's buzzes on the table. He picks it up and opens the text.

"Congratulations!" reads the latest message from Georgie Barker. "This is now a DATE. Have fun! ❤😘👌✌😜👀" Another message pops up a second later. "I'll expect a detailed update tomorrow. 😉" Martin can feel his face heating up, that deep red blush that is going to take him over in the next few minutes. Sure she'd _said_ that if he didn't stop pining so pathetically she was going to do something drastic but he never thought she actually _meant_...

He sneaks a look at Jon over the top of his phone, and from the look on his face he's gotten the same text. And what is that look exactly? He can't help but try to analyze it, even though he knows it's only going to make him miserable in the end. Shock and mortification, sure, that's...fair, but not horror, he doesn't think? It's so hard to tell. Embarrassment, maybe? The tips of Jon's ears are turning pink, which is terribly endearing. He looks away before Jon can see him staring.

"I. Well." Jon is clearing his throat awkwardly from across the table. "I assume she sent you the same message, then?"

God, he hates that blush, it gives away far too much. Martin nods, then forces out a, "Yeah," which is not quite a squeak. He means to apologize, to get up and leave, to pretend this never happened, but Jon sighs and sets his phone down on the table a little too firmly. "Well, you might as well drink Georgie's then," he says with a wave to one of the two pints before picking up the other one and putting away about half of it in one go. Martin knows the feeling.

"I don't have to," he says in a hurry. "I mean - I can just go, it's not - I didn't ask her to - "

"I didn't think you would," Jon says dryly. "But I'm not going to drink all that myself." He seems to be taking this remarkably calmly, which is very unfair, because Martin feels a little bit like he's going to faint and he's not sure beer will help. But - but it's officially been declared a date and Jon has all but asked him to stay, so it's not like he's actually capable of getting up to leave at this point. It's good beer, at least.

There's a terrible, lingering silence while Jon stares at the table and Martin tries not to stare at Jon and concentrates on trying to breathe normally. He'd love to be able to think it through but his mind keeps stuttering on _date_ and _might as well_ and Jon's elegant fingers tapping on his pint glass. "I don't mind though," he blurts out. "I mean I mind that it's - this isn't a great thing to surprise people with, that's not ideal obviously, not to mention you're _engaged_, not that - anyway I wouldn't have wanted to - not that I was ever going to ask, but - I don't mind. Being on a date. With you." _Hopeless_, he thinks, and his face feels like it's going to burn right off of his skull. He can't even blame it on the alcohol, he's barely touched it.

"I." Jon clears his throat and Martin's stomach drops so hard it feels like gravity has given up on him. He bites the inside of his cheek, bracing for the rejection. "I wouldn't have said no. If you'd asked. I mean I probably would have, but not because of Peter, or because I don't -" Jon's still looking at the table, his fingers tapping anxiously. "I'm not good at this, and it probably isn't a good idea to get - involved with - anything right now, but I." He swallows the end of his sentence and his eyes flicker up to Martin for just a second.

He's still catching up, honestly. This is absolutely not what he was expecting tonight, it's not what he would have expected from Jon ever, and he's aware he's sitting there looking ridiculously stunned but really this is too much to ask of a person without any warning, especially after he's been at work all day. But Jon's shoulders are beginning to hunch defensively, like he'd already forgotten that Martin was the one to make a horrifying confession first. "Oh," he manages intelligently, which doesn't help. "Really? I mean I - oh god." He gives in, finally, to the impulse to bury his head in his arms, folded on the table in front of him. "This is terrible."

"Well I did say I was bad at this," Jon says, a little snippy.

Martin drags himself up again. "No, I mean - well, aside from the whole surprise date business - this is the worst kind of first date, there's nothing to do but sit and talk and there's always all this awkward silence and it's just." He gestures vaguely.

Jon is looking at him now, intent and serious. It's still hard to meet his eyes but his attention stirs something warm in Martin's chest. "What would you suggest instead, then?"

"Oh, just - doing something, going to a museum or something, so there's something else to stare at when you can't think of anything to say. I went on a date once where we made up personality conflicts for all the people in the portrait gallery. He wasn't - it didn't work out, but that was nice." That was years ago, Martin really doesn't date that often, but apparently he does it more than Jon. It's a little unsettling to be the expert for once.

"That does sound nice." Jon sounds a little wistful. Then he looks down into his empty glass and makes a face. "Do you think Georgie actually does have an update on whatever you two were planning, or was this all a ruse?"

"Does - " Martin's entirely taken aback. Sure, he knows that Jon is the most emotionally incompetent person he's ever met, but also he's literally just said that he was interested - or that he didn't have any objections, which was nearly the same thing, right? - and Martin has spent the past month watching Jon being romanced and flirted with and he's really done sitting around and watching. "Right. D'you want to go to an art museum with me on Saturday?"

Jon looks up at him, blinking in surprise. _Oh my god I've fallen in love with a complete idiot_, Martin thinks, not for the first time. "Which one?" Jon asks.

"Does it matter?"

He actually smiles. It's a small one, but it's there. "I suppose not. I - yes, that - that sounds lovely."

Martin's pretty sure he isn't blushing any more, because all the warmth has moved into his chest where it feels like his heart might actually stop from the weight of it.


	8. Epilogue

Jon is having a terrible time concentrating. He's _supposed_ to be putting together references to the other people taken by the Anglerfish and instead he can't stop thinking about Martin. About their - their plans for Saturday, certainly, but also about the way he's spent the past month doing his best to run interference, and the way he squared his shoulders before agreeing to go back into the tunnels, and how he'd worked out that a corkscrew best way to deal with the worms. A little grotesque, certainly, but rather brilliant. Which he hadn't acknowledged at the time, although to be fair -

Well, no, it wasn't fair, that's the point. Jon has spent years being very unfair to Martin and Martin has been nothing but kind and supportive and apparently devoted in return. It's a little embarrassing that it took Georgie's badgering for him to notice how important Martin has become. (Georgie is going to be insufferably smug, Jon is sure, but under the circumstances he can't quite begrudge her.)

He's fidgeting with that damn engagement ring again, he realizes, twisting it around on his finger. He looks at it for the first time in a while. It's a horribly garish thing even aside from everything it implies, the past weeks of absurdity and uncomfortable, unlooked-for intimacy and whatever Elias has promised him to, and suddenly it's intolerable. He pulls it off, a little surprised that it goes so easily, and cups it in his palm. "Right," he says to himself, and heads for Elias's office.

Jon doesn't usually knock at Elias's door any more, but the sounds of multiple voices from within gives him pause. Obviously it's possible Elias is having some kind of meeting, there are other departments in the Institute than the Archives - then he recognizes one of the voices raised in protest as Peter's, and shoves the door open anyway.

It's quite a scene. Elias is leaning against his desk, arms folded, with that expression he wears when he's trying not to look _too_ insufferably smug. Two police officers are flanking Peter, one trying to look obsequious, the other with his hand on Peter's shoulder and looking like he's very interested in a touch of police brutality but isn't willing to risk it under the circumstances. Peter, of course, is talking.

"Honestly, the least you could do is bother with handcuffs, I'm considering being offended that you don't consider me dangerous."

"You're hardly accused of a violent crime, sir," the obsequious officer says calmly.

"Jon," Elias says, and they all turn to look at him. "What can I do for you?" He sounds like he might be willing to be magnanimous, under the circumstances.

Jon's hand is clenched in a fist around the ring, and he forces his grip to loosen. "Ah. I - um, didn't mean to interrupt -"

"Nonsense," Elias says cheerfully over the beginnings of objections. "These gentlemen are nearly finished, I can spare a moment."

His casual disregard, as ever, stabs at Jon's contrariness and quite suddenly he's out of hesitation. He strides forward and sets the ring down on Elias's desk with a sharp click. "Then maybe you'll have time to re-negotiate with the Lukases, because I'm not doing this any more. It was a ridiculous demand in the first place and I am not letting you commandeer the rest of my life."

Elias, infuriatingly, doesn't look displeased or even surprised. "Of course, Jon, I entirely understand. I think Peter and I have worked out an alternative arrangement, especially given the - " He eyes Peter consideringly. "Circumstances."

"Worked out - " Jon says, shocked in spite of himself, but he's drowned out immediately.

"Oh now that's too much," Peter says plaintively, "first Elias and now you, Jonathan? Must I have my heart broken twice in one day?" Jon glares at him, though his mind is stuck on _first Elias_ and _twice in one day_. The police are looking positively intrigued, damn them.

"Now really, Peter," Elias says, "I don't know what you expect me to do. I have no control over whether or not you have to suffer the consequences for any crimes you've committed. If it helps," he adds, softer but no less smug, "I promise to miss you while you're in prison."

Peter huffs in annoyance, but he looks thoroughly pleased. Elias pushes himself up off the desk and, after a reluctant nod from one of the officers, steps in close to Peter and kisses him thoroughly and intimately. Peter makes a positively indecent noise and leans into it, looking very pleased with himself. Jon blinks at them. _Well_, he thinks, _I suppose that answers the divorce question?_

The kiss goes on for much longer than is comfortable for anyone - aside from the participants, who seem happy to ignore the rest of them. While the officers look awkwardly at one another, Jon makes his escape.

He collects Martin on his way to his office, still flustered from the display in Elias's office but also aware that if he puts this off he'll regret it later. Martin is looking at him wide-eyed and worried, and Jon reaches to twist the ring on his finger before he remembers it isn't there any more. Martin's eyes follow the gesture and he bites his lip rather than ask, which makes it easier.

"I wanted to tell you first," Jon says, and it's a relief just to start talking, even before he gets to the point. "I - well, I went to tell Elias that I won't go through with it." He spreads the fingers of his left hand in illustration. There's a blush rising in Martin's cheeks and it sets off his freckles; Jon has to look away before he gets entirely distracted. "It doesn't seem to have proved anything," he says bitterly.

"Did he - he insisted anyway, didn't he?" Martin sounds thoroughly dejected. He shifts a little, like he wants to reach out a comforting hand, but stops himself. Jon wishes that he wouldn't, though he doesn't know how to say it, even if the situation isn't nearly as dire as Martin fears.

"No, actually," he says, and Martin's head jerks up in surprise. "Apparently he'd already made - alternate arrangements." His mind supplies the image again of Elias's hand on Peter's jaw as he kisses him and he does his best to dismiss it. Christ, he'd never wanted to know - "Besides," he says hurriedly, "Peter is apparently being arrested? I didn't quite catch the details, it was all very. Sudden."

That makes Martin grin, nearly as smug as Elias, and Jon is getting tired of everyone knowing more about what's going on than he does, given that he's been at the center of this for far too long. "Sorry," Martin says at his look, "but - really, that's what you're going to be offended by? That he got you _out_ of being forced to marry Peter Lukas without telling you?"

"He got me into it in the first place," Jon grumbles, "the least he could do is _tell_ me before I spend all morning figuring out how to tell him no." All right, it's possible he's being irrational, but he feels as though he's lost track of what a rational response to the whole situation might be. It seems like everyone he knows has been pushing him in different directions, from Elias's manipulation to Martin and Georgie's - "Wait," he says, "was that _you_, getting Peter arrested?"

"I'll have to tell Georgie her plan worked," Martin says, looking very pleased with himself.

Jon is running out of patience with people making mysterious comments about things that are pivotal in his life.. "What. Plan."

"Oh, uh." Martin blushes a little more under Jon's demanding stare, a reaction he'll have to take the time to investigate later. "Well. Did you know that Al Capone was arrested for tax evasion?" Jon just blinks at him, confused. Martin continues in a rush. "Because they couldn't get any evidence against him for the really bad stuff, the murders and everything, because no one would talk. But they could prove he had more money than he paid taxes on and that was enough to put him in prison and that stopped everything else. Georgie suggested it, said that if someone's doing one illicit thing they're probably doing a bunch more and we just had to find something that we could prove. The monster thing wouldn't do it, but." He shrugs.

"Are you saying," Jon says slowly, "that you and Georgie got Peter Lukas arrested for tax evasion?"

Martin shrugs again, but he can't repress a smile. "More or less."

Jon slumps back a little in shock. He knows - well, he's been getting better at noticing that Martin really is very good, clever and competent and determined, but he's been so focused on wrangling Peter himself that he's barely noticed this going on in the background. To much greater success than his own efforts, apparently. And Martin is sitting there looking pink and pleased and Jon is swamped by a wave of affection he is entirely unprepared for. It catches his breath in his throat and ruins the rest of his composure.

It's a day for rash action, apparently, because he gets up from behind his desk without thinking and stands over Martin, who looks up at him nervously. And that won't do; Jon reaches out to cup his cheek in one hand, and Martin draws in a sharp breath just before Jon bends down to kiss him. It's probably not objectively good; he's terribly out of practice and the angle is awkward and he can barely breathe, but Martin's hands go to his shoulders and he leans into it with a soft, happy noise, and Jon thinks that maybe, just maybe, this is going to be all right.

**Author's Note:**

> Please come yell about TMA with me, I have too many feelings  
[@j_quadrifrons](https://twitter.com/j_quadrifrons), [backofthebookshelf](https://backofthebookshelf.tumblr.com)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Sweethearts & Wives](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23290339) by [j_quadrifrons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_quadrifrons/pseuds/j_quadrifrons)


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